


Awkward Moments

by marksmanfem



Series: Boondock Saints OC Arc [10]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Carnival, Diners, Drinking, F/M, Furniture, Haunted Houses, Jealousy, Making Out, Mirrors, Phone Calls & Telephones, Porn Magazines, Sex, Vomiting, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marksmanfem/pseuds/marksmanfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every relationship has them...If you happen to be in a relationship with the MacManus brothers, you probably have a few of them. Takes place over two weeks. 10th in my Boondock Saints OC arc. Rated E for language and smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday, Week 1

Some nights having two boyfriends can be absolutely the best thing in the world: amazing sex, cuddles, almost more attention than a girl can handle. Especially when your boyfriends are the insatiable MacManus brothers; I can promise that whenever I want sex, it is definitely available in some shape, form, or fashion, and it is never sub-par.

 

On the other hand, it can also be hectic, frustrating, and downright awkward, almost more than a girl can handle. Especially when your boyfriends are the insatiable MacManus brothers; I can promise that for every two good or wonderful things that happen, there are usually one or two things that run along and make me turn beet red or feel like kneeing one of the boys right in the…gut.

 

So here are the highlights of the last two weeks in my glamorous life, just in case anyone was getting jealous and thinking they’d like to switch places…

 

…

 

Monday, Week 1:

 

Apparently I have “Find Something For Me To Do” stamped on my face this morning, because every managerial type person at work (including Jen) has come up with at least two different things they need done today, absolutely by the end of the day, definitely no later. As I personally trained Jen about a month ago to do both the things she asked me to do (you know, when she’d only been here five months to my five years with the company), I’m a little on edge when lunch time rolls around.

 

So imagine my surprise when Murphy shows up with some deli sandwiches and sodas, dragging the eyes of everyone woman in the building along with him. Now, I love my guys (though I’m still too chicken to tell them), and I have to say they sure do know when to do the nice things. You wouldn’t think it of two guys living in what can only very loosely be construed as an apartment that is lucky to get hot water after fifteen minutes of trying, but they can do the romantic thing when they really try.

 

“How’d you know?” I ask, seeking out a quiet corner in the break room. Luckily, I tend to take later lunches than most people, so the room is quite deserted. Instead of sitting across from me at the table, though, Murphy scoots right up next to me. After a little hesitation and a cautious glance around, I relax and lean into him, happily munching on my sandwich.

 

“You’re going to spoil me if you keep this sort of thing up,” I mumble around a mouthful of salami and pepperoni. “I also hope you happened to remember some mints, if you’re planning on a make-out session later, or something.”

 

I’m mostly joking, but it _is_ Murphy we’re dealing with. Before I’ve finished speaking, Murphy’s sandwich is on the table and he’s offering me a tin of Altoids. I nearly choke as I simultaneously laugh and try to swallow my bite of sandwich. Being the caring and concerned boyfriend that he is, Murphy makes sure to pound me on the back a few times before offering me the mints again.

 

Lunch sadly flies by much faster than I like, and before I know it I have to get back to the grindstone. Murphy clears our trash off the table as I chew the last tiny remnants of my mint, glad the day is more than half over.

 

I stand and stretch, then turn to say something to Murphy and find him two inches from my face.

 

“Ye said somethin’ about a make-out session, yeah?”

 

Before you can say “No PDA in the workplace!” Murphy has pinned me to the wall and completely removed my ability to speak (with his tongue, no less). A couple of incoherent moans make it out from between us, but his hands are tangled in my hair, his lips are moving exactly right.

 

And you know what? There’s no one around. I’ve worked my ass off this morning, I work my ass off every damn day for little thanks at this job, and I think it’s about time I played the screw up at work. Everyone else seems to be able to get away with it…why not me?

 

My leg hitches up almost automatically, wrapping around the back of Murphy’s calf and pulling him just that much closer. I can feel a rather insistent bulge pushing against my belly, and his lips travel down from my mouth to my neck, latching directly on to my weak spot. I just manage to bite my lip enough to keep from making any noise, and then…then he…oh, then…

 

Then Jen walks in. Wonderful, smug, ass-kissing Jen who got the promotion I spent two years working my ass off for and now is technically my immediate supervisor. Jen who still manages to turn heads at forty and in office clothes no less. Smart, motivated, hot.

 

Bitch. Sigh.

 

I’m not sure how I manage to get Murphy off me so quickly, but I hear a muffled yelp of pain as I shove him behind me and smile as sincerely as I can.

 

“Murphy, this is Jen. Jen, this is Murphy, and he was just leaving.” I give him a (sort of) gentle shove in the direction of the break room door.

 

“Good, I was just stopping in to see how far you’d gotten with the paperwork I gave you. Nice to meet you, Murphy,” Jen adds, her eyes spending a bit too much time on Murphy’s retreating form than I would like. She really needs to stop eye-fucking my boyfriend.

 

“Be back t’walk ye t’th’train at six, yeah?”

 

I absolutely hate myself for doing it, but I glance at Jen for confirmation. Whether I resent her or not, she’s still _technically_ my boss. A smirk worthy of the MacManuses tugs at the corner of her mouth, but she nods.

 

“Yeah, Murph, I’ll see you then. Thanks for lunch.”

 

He flashes me a bone-melting half-smile before slipping out the door. I know my face is beet-red, and I just do not want to face Jen anymore.

 

“You okay? You’ve look a little flushed today?” Jen asks my hastily retreating back. I can hear the suppressed laughter in her tone, and I don’t dare look back.

 

“As a matter of fact, I think I might be coming down with something. I’ll try to get as much done today as I can in case I get sick tomorrow.”

 

I think a sick day might do me a little good, now that I think about it.


	2. Wednesday, Week 1

Wednesday, Week 1:

 

“Ye’ve knocked twice, an’ she ain’t answered yet. She’s not home, so use th’fuckin’ key already an’ let us in. I’m tired o’waitin’ in th’hall!”

 

Connor sighs; he knows Murphy’s right, it’s just that he doesn’t like admitting it out loud if he can help it.

 

“All right, then. Here’s th’plan: we’ll go in, arrange the table, put some candles an’ such on it, so when she sees it—“

 

“Candles?!?” Murphy nearly drops his end of the heavy coffee table they’re carrying through the door now, he’s laughing so hard. “Are ye hearin’ yerself? It’s somethin’ from one o’yer daft movies, ain’t it? Yer goin’ soft, Con. Next thing ye’ll be curled up on th’couch, cryin’ into a box o’chocolates an’ watchin’ Disney movies or some shit.”

 

Connor clenches his jaw but doesn’t take his brother’s bait. He wants this to turn out just right, and he’s determined not to let Murphy fuck it up. He has a fleeting moment of wishing he’d asked Rocco along instead, but he dismisses the thought. Murphy cares just as much about their girl as Connor does, and they both feel equally guilty about smashing the other table.

 

Murphy’s just decided to be an asshole today. That’s all.

 

They set the table down in the living room and begin to move the loose magazines and newspapers scattered around the room until they’re piled more or less neatly under the table.

 

Despite his muttered complaints, Murphy locates some candles and a couple of other decorative objects Connor deems worthy of the surprise. Then Connor notices that the front door is standing wide open.

 

“Murph, ye left th’fuckin’ door open. Just ‘cause we were raised on a farm don’t mean ye hafta let everyone know!”

 

“That doesn’t even make sense! An’ yer just as capable of closin’ th’door as me.”

 

Connor takes a minute to control his temper. They are _not_ going to destroy the table _again_ , this isn’t the time or the place. “Ye came through after me, ye shoulda shut it then, now shut th’fuck up an’ shut th’fuckin’ door!”

 

Murphy kicks the bottom of the door, venting his frustration and unintentionally connecting a bit harder than he meant to. The door closes with a loud slam, the sound echoing through the small apartment.

 

Both brothers jump suddenly when they hear an answering splash and a muffled curse burst from behind the closed bathroom door.

 

Connor glances at his brother with an eyebrow raised. “I guess she’s home after all. Sick day, maybe?”

 

Murphy shrugs, eyeing the bathroom door. “She seemed fine when we saw her Monday. You talked to her last night, how’d she sound?”

 

“Tired, but she’d just gotten home so that’s nothin’ new.” Connor sets down the picture frame he’s holding and moves quickly over to the bathroom door. He raps his knuckles lightly on the door.

 

“Lass, it’s us. Wanted t’surprise ye, but I guess we messed up. Y’okay in there?”

 

…

 

Shit! What the hell are they doing here? Seriously, the one time I fake calling in sick to have a girly, relaxing day to myself and they decide to play nice boyfriends and surprise me? Really?

 

I know my face is flushed from embarrassment (among other things), and I stand up quickly in the bathtub, bringing my sodden magazine with me. I’m half-upset for dropping the thing when the door slammed and half-worried Connor will burst in here before I have a chance to stash it somewhere. My eyes dart wildly around the bathroom looking for a decent hiding place.

 

I get now why my friends all keep their clothes hampers in the bathroom instead of the bedroom.

 

Connor taps on the door again. “Lass? Ye okay? Need us t’come in there?”

 

NO! But if I don’t answer or come out soon, they’ve liable to break down the door or destroy the living room again.

 

“Ye did say there’s room fer all three of us in there,” Murphy calls in what I’m sure he thinks is a helpful way. “We could test that theory out.” I hear a loud smack and Murphy’s answering curse. Dammit, they’re really about to start up again, aren’t they?

 

After another moment’s hesitation, I sling the magazine under the sink, slam the cabinet door shut, and shrug into my bathrobe just as the doorknob turns. I swear, life with these two is like something out of a movie sometimes.

 

Connor hesitantly sticks his head around the door, probably worried my temper will surface if he’s not careful. “Didn’t mean t’startle ye, lass; we were gonna surprise ye wit’ a new table an’ all, an’ we did knock a few times b’fore we used our key, honest.”

 

I make a special effort to get my voice and breathing under control before I answer.

 

“You really didn’t have to do that, and I appreciate it. I guess I was so zoned out I just didn’t hear you two come in, and the door slam just freaked me out so I dropped…er…splashed some water out of the tub.”

 

The last bit is definitely true, as evidenced by the pond I’m currently standing in.

 

“Here, lemme help.” Before I can stop him, Connor grabs my towel and starts mopping up water from the floor. I can’t think of a legitimate excuse to tell him to stop, so I resign myself to the end of my girly day and pull the plug from the drain.

 

“Didn’t know ye had a day off t’day. We could’ve done something earlier ‘stead of waitin’ fer t’night.”

 

I feel a definite twinge of guilt, but Connor’s tone isn’t accusing. I listen to Murphy moving things around in the living room and accept the sodden towel from Connor in exchange for the dry one I’ve picked up. I wring the soaked towel out over the tub as I answer him.

 

“I fake-called in sick today. Figured after the last couple of days I’ve had at work and all the overtime I’ve been putting in I’d have some relaxing alone time then give you guys a call a little earlier than we’d originally planned. How’s your wrist, by the way?”

 

“Healed up just fine. Hasn’t bothered me fer over a week, plus Murphy got is stitches out t’day. ‘S’why we’re not at work ourselves.”

 

Connor pauses, peering intently at something on the floor in front of the cabinet. “Lass, didja know some o’th’water’s comin’ from under yer sink? Ye might have a leak or somethin’. I’ll just take a quick look.”

 

My eyes widen in horror and snap up from where I’m staring blankly at the drain just in time to see Connor pull open the little wooden door.

 

“What th—what is _this_?”

 

My face makes a muffled squelch as it hits the damp towel in my hands. This. This is why I didn’t need them here now. Half an hour earlier or later, and I’d have been done with the magazine and had it stashed away safe and not soaking wet.

 

“Is this…no…Murph! Get in here!”

 

Why? Why don’t I date one normal, non-joined-at-the-hip, non-twin instead of these two lunatics? What is wrong with me?

 

Murphy steps into the bathroom, and Connor bounces to his feet from the floor, practically shoving the sodden magazine into his brother’s face.

 

“Our girl is a _perv_ , Murph!” Connor crows gleefully. I can feel a tiny headache starting between my eyes.

 

This really is about as bad as I’d figured it could be, hence why I hid the stupid magazine from them in the first place. My anxiety only worsens as Murphy’s expression slowly grows to mirror Connor’s. I swear, the only thing that could make this situation much worse is—

 

“Hey, Conn, if ye turn this one just right, it looks just like ye!”

 

Bingo.

 

Connor leans over Murphy’s shoulder, studying the picture. He glances at me and then at Murphy.

 

“Just our luck t’get th’girl who can’t even enjoy porn properly. Lass, he’s still got pants on; I don’t think that’s th’point. Although…” He looks around the bathroom, taking in the water still on the floor, the magazine dripping on his brother’s hands, and my still-flushed face. I can see the realization dawning.

 

“Holy shit, girl, were you—”

 

“OUT! Both of you out of my bathroom now!”

 

I manage to herd both of them out, slamming and locking the door being them. I turn, my back hitting the door wearily, clutching my head in my hands as I listen to the two of them laughing and bickering in the living room.

 

After a few minutes, the apartment quiets down, and I start to consider coming out. The worst is over, right? Then I hear Murphy.

 

“Ye know, Con, there’s somethin’ t’be said fer th’ fact that our girl prefers a black-an'-white still shot of yer half-dressed look-a-like t’th’ real thing…Seems like ye got some competition.”

 

At the sound of a thunk and breaking glass, I reconsider leaving the bathroom. After all, I did want some alone time today. Now’s as good a time as any. I’m only disappointed I didn’t get to see my new table, and it’s probably about to be destroyed.

 

Sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered an alternate title for this chapter of "Death of the Magazine," but it didn't fit with the other chapter titles. If you enjoyed what you read, please take a moment to behind a thought or two. Also, feel free to check out some of my other stories. Thanks.


	3. Saturday and Sunday, Week 1

“Y’can handle on more shot, lass. Ye haven’t had that much, not compared t’me an’ Connor.”

 

“Ernest Hemingway hasn’t had that much compared to you and Connor,” I slur, but my words are lost in the cheerful noise of the weekend crowd. My heart isn’t in them, anyway; isn’t there something I wanted to be doing now? I just can’t remember…too many layers of alcohol to think through.

 

“Yeah, even I’m kickin’ yer ass tonight, girl,” Rocco chimes in. “Didn’t know the boys hooked up with such a lightweight.”

 

“Fuck you,” I mumble, snatching unsteadily at the shot. I shakily raise the glass to my lips and tilt my head back.

 

I am so going to regret this.

 

—Two Hours Earlier—

 

“I need food,” I announce cheerfully as I plop down on the stool next to Connor. “I was promised food, so gimme.”

 

He grins and pulls me in for a kiss. For a moment, I am completely engulfed in blessed warmth and a smell that is utterly and uniquely Connor, and the gnawing pains in my stomach are replaced with a different kind of pang somewhat further down in my belly. Long before I tire of my hello kiss, though, someone takes a hold of my arm, spinning me around on my stool and away from Connor.

 

Murphy is on me before I can take a proper breath, but to be honest I’m having a hard time remembering why it is breathing is so important when there are other things one can be doing. As Murphy finally disengages and gently stabilizes me on my stool, I’m only vaguely aware of a grumbling Connor on my other side.

 

A shot is shoved in my direction, and I down it almost automatically before eyeing each of the boys sternly.

 

“Food. Feed me before I eat parts of each of you that neither of you will enjoy losing.” Their looks of excitement melt into mild horror with comical suddenness.

 

“Roc should be on his way, said he’d be here in just a bit. Y’mind if we wait fer him?” Murphy asks as he seats himself on my other side. I smile faintly, completely surrounded by the warmth and security of being squished between Murphy and Connor at the crowded bar. I seriously heart my sexy, Irish bookend boyfriends.

 

Huh…I should put that on a t-shirt.

 

Another shot is pushed in my direction. “I guess we can wait, but seriously…Do _NOT_ forget that I was promised food.”

 

—One Hour Later—

 

I know there’s something I’m supposed to remember right now, but it’s just not coming to me. Rocco has finally shown up, and he and Connor are fucking with Doc, trying to get him to add his own personal Tourette touches to whatever perverted sentences they can think of. Murphy’s disappeared somewhere, probably the bathroom, and I am intently sorting the halved peanuts from the whole ones in the bowl in front of me. For some reason it’s going slower than I would like, but I guess the peanuts being so blurry isn’t helping; sometimes it’s hard to tell which are whole and which are in pieces.

 

“Ye could just eat ‘em, y’know. Ye don’t have t’categorize ‘em first.”

 

“Yay, Murphy’s back!” Oh, this really is exciting! “You can help me tell if they’re halved or whole! I can’t tell sometimes, they’re all kinda blurry…” I trail off, staring dazedly at Murphy. Has he always been this hot? I should probably ask him, just to make sure.

 

“Have you always been so…pretty? I mean…no, yeah, you’re pretty.”

 

He grins and pulls me close for a kiss. “Been this pretty fer s’long’s I can remember, but I’m nothin’ compared t’certain girl I’ve had me eye on fer a while.”

 

My head jerks to a semblance of attention and I stare daggers around the bar. The slut with hooker heals is back, isn’t she? My fists are balled and I’m halfway off my stool when Murphy’s arms snake around my waist and pull me back to my seat. He’s laughing, and I don’t understand.

 

“Yer th’girl, y’fuckin’ lush! Ain’t no other girl’s had me attention since ye walked through that door fer th’first time.”

 

Oh….oh!

 

There’s an explosion of laughter from the crowd around Connor and Rocco, so I figure somebody came up with a good (bad) combination for Doc. Murphy sweeps a handful of peanuts off the bar and offers them to me placatingly.

 

“Soon’s they’re done fuckin’ wit’ Doc, we can go get ye somethin’ t’eat. Have some o’these in th’meantime t’tide ye over.”

 

I eye him suspiciously. “Are they halved or whole? Because you have to eat the smaller ones first, it’s the rule.” I pause, staring blearily at the peanuts for a minute before looking back at Murphy. “You promise we’ll get food soon?”

 

“Aye, shouldn’t be too much longer now…How long can takin’ th’piss outta Doc keep ‘em busy?”

 

—And Now Back to the Beginning—

 

The shot settles peacefully in my stomach for about a minute, but the inevitable ominous rumblings make their appearance rather forcefully almost exactly on the minute mark. Murphy and Rocco and distracted by something at the other end of the bar, and Connor’s nowhere to be seen, so I take advantage of my lack of public attention and slip off my stool.

 

As unsteady as I am (why the hell would Doc build such an uneven floor? Isn’t that against safety codes or something? I mean, there’re drunk people in here, after all) I manage to make it a fair distance before I stumble. Strong arms seize me well before I hit the floor, but the sudden lurch does not a single good thing for my booze-drowned stomach.

 

“Oh, Christ…” I moan, clutching my middle. “Bathroom…need…”

 

The arms help me the rest of the way, and I barely make it to the toilet before nearly everything I’ve drunk tonight (except what’s already soaked into my brain) decides to make an encore appearance. My intestinal pyrotechnics don’t go unnoticed by the crowd, though I’m far too miserable to care just now. I’m sure I’ll be embarrassed later, but right now I only have energy enough to make sure my head is pointing in the right direction.

 

Gentle, warm hands gather my hair behind me and awkwardly attempt to pat my back in a comforting sort of way.

 

“Just get it all up, girl. M’sorry we didn’t take y’fer food like ye asked. I’ll help ye clean up when yer ready.” Connor’s voice is heavy with concern and remorse, and I almost start to feel a little bad for him, but then the next wave hits.

 

Ten minutes later, I’ve rinsed my mouth more times than I can count and washed my face with a clean bar rag Connor acquired for me. I’m still a bit unsteady, though not nearly bad as before, and I’m leaning against the wall opposite the toilet, my face pressed onto the cool tile. It would be so nice to just doze for a minute, it’s so lovely and cool against the wall, and I really don’t want to go back out and face everyone…

 

“Lass?”

 

“Huh?” Obviously my sparkling wit has returned.

 

“Yer droolin’ a bit there, might want to wipe that off ‘fore we go back out.”

 

Oh, could this night get any better?

 

“Did I…get any vomit on me anywhere?”

 

Connor smiles gently and pulls me against his chest, holding me until I’m steady on my feet without the support of the wall. “Yer as perfect as th’day I met ye.”

 

“I was asleep on a subway car when you met me, jackass.”

 

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that makes my skin tingle. “Yeah, an’ ye were droolin’ a bit then, too.”

 

“Hmph…I’d make you pay for that if sudden movement wasn’t so terrifying right now.” Sigh. “Can we go back to your place? Mine’s too far, and I think I need to lie down. I just want to pass out and wake up next weekend.”

 

“Let’s try t’get some food in ye first, help settle yer stomach. Wait here; I’ll get Murph an’ Roc then bring yer coat so we can leave.”

 

“Okay, but if you aren’t back in five mines…I’ll probably fall asleep on the wall again.”

 

I almost get to carry out my threat, but just as I find my comfy patch of tile again Connor comes in and wraps my coat around my shoulders, helping me shrug into the arms.

 

“Ready fer yer walk o’shame?”

 

Of course, it’s not nearly as bad as I let myself imagine it will be; most of the guys who come here are pretty seasoned drinkers. I get a few versions of “Rookie mistake, drinkin’ on an empty stomach!” and “You’ll do better next time, hun!”

 

See, this is why I love this place.

 

Fifteen minutes later finds me slumped against Connor in a booth while Murphy and Rocco argue over something I zoned out on around when they first started up. Connor shifts so his arm is around me and squeezes me gently, pushing a glass of ice water in my direction.

 

“Can’t fall asleep yet, girl. Sip on that so’s ye c’n get hydrated, an’ we’ll get ye somethin’ t’eat ‘fore ye get sick again.” I grumble something into his shoulder even I can’t understand, but I force my eyes to stay open and my hand to close around the glass.

 

“Want me t’order for ye?” I nod pitifully, immediately regretting the movement, and Connor chuckles at my grimace as I take a long, slow swallow of water. Murphy shoves Rocco out of the booth and stands, heading toward the restroom. He calls over his shoulder, “Sandwich, Con. Whatever’s good, an’ some coffee as well.”

 

I’m done with most of the water when the waitress finishes taking our order, and I start nibbling gingerly on some saltines Connor got from the lady behind the counter. Rocco tries to get me to laugh by telling his absolute worst jokes, and he’s damn near successful right up until I’m distracted by the sound of Murphy talking to someone.

 

“Told ye th’first time I wasn’t interested. After th’talkin’ to m’girl gave ye I didn’t think ye’d have th’balls to start somethin’ again.”

 

“Your girl? You mean the psycho bitch who assaulted me because she couldn’t handle the threat of competition? The whore who’s currently wasted and plastered all over another man _and_ flirting with the caveman at the same time?”

 

I glance blearily up at Rocco from where he and I are building a pyramid from the sugar and Sweet'N Low packets. Her words register before her voice does, and we raise eyebrows at each other. Flirting? Really? He shrugs, and I start to return the gesture when I freeze.

 

I know that voice, but…no, there’s no fucking way. Surely not here, not this diner, not tonight. It’s too freaking much of a coincidence, seriously.

 

I straighten up and look past Rocco toward the restrooms, and there she is. None other than Hooker Heels herself. But why? Why here? Surely there are other neighborhoods in South Boston she can go infest. She’s apparently waylaid Murphy on his way back to the booth, and I’m pleased to see he’s doing his damndest to keep her at arm’s length this time, though apparently she’s doing her damndest to find a way to molest his damn arm while he uses it to keep her away.

 

His eyes are hard and furious, a look I rarely see in them, and my brain finally registers exactly what she called me. Huh. I guess I see why Murphy’s so mad now. She’s lucky she’s a woman, or she’d be out cold on the floor already. As it is, Murphy’s looking pretty pissed, but his strict code of conduct is just barely keeping his temper under control. Looks like I’m going to have to defend my honor in order to keep my boyfriend from doing it.

 

Shit.

 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake…Connor, move.” I’m tired, I still feel like five kinds of shit, and this is seriously one of the last things I’d have picked to deal with right now, but apparently this woman just has a listening problem.

 

“Lord’s name, lass, an’ I don’t think it’s such a good idea t—”

 

“Move, Connor.” I don’t raise my voice or change my tone in the slightest, but he doesn’t argue this time. I move slowly to hide my unsteadiness and pull myself up to face the woman who has apparently become something of my nemesis.

 

“I believe I told you to stay away from my man the last time I saw you. I also believe I told you exactly what would happen if you failed to do so.” I level my gaze right at her, determined to at least appear like I’m holding my own.

 

“Which one? You’re climbing around on so many of them seems like you think you can lay claim to half of South Boston.”

 

Everyone in the diner freezes and sucks in a breath, and I swear it’s like that night in McGinty’s all over again.

 

“At this point, I’ve warned you away and Murphy’s told you he’s not interested. What do you not understand about this situation? Do you want an ass beating that badly, because you could have just asked nicely.”

 

“You know what I think, Sweetie?” She takes a step towards me, looming several inches over me in what would otherwise be a rather comical scene, and I automatically glance down her ( _long_ ) legs to her feet which are shod in yet another pair of fabulous five-inch stilettos. I sigh inwardly, wondering why God chose to make me such a natural klutz. I’d forgotten how hot and how very tall she is. I’d forgotten how fantastic her shoes are. Apparently, I’ve also forgotten that she’s still talking.

 

I tend to get a little distractible when I’m drunk.

 

“I think you’re all talk. I think you’re full of shit, and all I have to do is show your boy over there what a poser you are, and he’ll see how a real woman goes after what she wants instead of making empty threats.”

 

Weeks later, Rocco still swears that I did this on purpose, but honest to God, my intention was solely to haul back and punch her in her shiny, perfectly-pouting mouth. I manage the haul back just fine, but as I move I feel that familiar, ominous wrenching in my gut, and before I can force myself to even try for the bathroom, I lose my crackers, the glass of water, and everything else left in my stomach right onto her elegant, designer stilettos.

 

Apparently what real women want is a fast exit with lots of screaming, because that’s sure what she shows Murphy…and everyone else in the diner, for that matter.

 

Oh, God, this is really the icing on the cake of a fabulous evening, one that is definitely going down in the record books as something special.

 

After I clean myself up in the bathroom, feeling somewhat better but utterly exhausted, I spend five minutes apologizing profusely to the waitress who has to clean up my mess. I promise her a huge tip and all future custom to be vomit free. My face is flaming the whole time as everyone else in the diner is pretty much openly staring at me and grinning.

 

“Honey,” the waitress says, straightening up and smiling at me, “Ain’t a person who works here who can stand that bitch. It’s us should be tippin’ you, so just relax. Dinner’s on us tonight.”

 

I feel a lot better once I get some food down, and we say goodnight to Rocco not long after. The walk back to the boy’s loft is mercifully quick, and the second Connor has my coat off me I collapse bonelessly onto the nearest mattress. Murphy sighs and lifts me gently over to his own bed.

 

“Nearer to th’toilet, lass. Just in case. Hate t’have ye pukin’ all over Connor in th’night, he’d sleep right through it.”

 

I try in vain for several seconds to get my pants off at least, but I can’t seem to get my fingers to work right. Heaving a great, martyred sigh, Murphy crouches next to me and helps me remove my shoes and pants then unhooks my bra. I attempt to kiss him on the cheek in thanks, and though I know I miss my mark, I’m not sure where I actually end up kissing him. Connor snorts from somewhere over by the fridge, and Murphy sighs again, climbing to his feet and moving away as he starts shedding his own clothing.

 

I wiggle slowly around on the mattress for a minute, trying to find my comfy groove. It’s difficult without Murphy actually in the bed, and there’s something missing. “Where’s…stupid…oof…pillow?” I’m so close to sleep it’s almost painful, but I really want that damn pillow.

 

“Right above ye,” Connor calls as he shucks his boots.

 

But all the alcohol that I managed to process before I threw up seems to have ended up in the audio-translation center of my brain, because that’s not what I hear through my haze of sleep and whisky.

 

“Love you both, too,” I grumble then promptly pass out and proceed to immediately forget the entire tiny, massively significant exchange.

 

…

 

When I wake up the next morning, there’s a crick in my neck and a pounding in my temples. Thankfully, though, my stomach feels fine. The shower is running with Murphy underneath it, and Connor is nowhere to be found. Knowing what my breath must smell like, I roll over gingerly (just in case) and dig through my purse until I come up with the tin of Altoids Murphy gave me at lunch the other day. After crunching through of couple of them quickly, I decide a shower might be exactly what I need to get back to near-normalcy.

 

Plus…y’know…naked, wet, soapy Murphy.

 

He’s leaning with his palms pressed against the wall and head hanging down, so I get to admire the rear view as I approach him. He jumps just a little when my fingers touch his shoulder, but he relaxes as I start to run my hands up and down the slippery fantasy that is his back. I love the feel of both the boys’ skin on mine, and while I get that often enough, both of them are rather assertive in bed, so it’s not often that I get to be in the driver’s seat, so to speak. I plan to enjoy this for as long as I can.

 

I run my fingers slowly down his back until they’re just above his tailbone then slide them around until I’m grasping his hips. I tug back gently and step forward at the same time until my front is pressed against the smooth expanse of his back. I explore the bits of his shoulder I can reach with my lips, tasting the lovely clean taste of Murphy while blindly exploring his soapy chest with my palms.

 

Murphy moans softly when my teeth find a particularly sensitive spot on the back of his neck, and I contribute by running my nails slowly up the sculpted plane of his lower belly.

 

And then my back is against the shower wall, my hands are pinned above my head, and Murphy cuts off my startled grunt with some fancy teeth and tongue work of his own. He pulls away a couple of inches leaving me panting and straining against his hands.

 

“You didn’t miss Mass because of me, did you?” I finally manage to get out. Forming words is difficult when his free hand is doing some exploring of its own. I’m glad my stomach has returned to normal function this morning.

 

“Nah…S’after noon now. We went early, and ye were snorin’ up a storm when I got back. Got ye some breakfast if yer hungry.” He doesn’t so much tell me this as growl it against my ear, occasionally interrupting himself with a sharp nip or two to my neck.

 

“S…so…Connor…didn’t…come…oh, please do that again…didn’t come back with you?”

 

“Nah, had some errands to run; said he’d be back later. Ye really that worried ‘bout him?”

 

“Not at the moment, no.”

 

Murphy apparently decides conversation time is now over and finds a better use for both our tongues. The scalding water feels even better than my first hot shower in the loft, and I’m swimming in sensations. My headache is a thing of distant memory, and if I could just get Murphy to move his fingers a little lower, then…

 

Oh…. “Fuck, Murphy…please…”

 

The water shuts off, and we barely make it to his bed before he has me on my back. He tugs sharply and suddenly, and then my knees are over his shoulders, and he’s driving downward, and the new angle is sudden and strange and so, _so_ very deep. I don’t know if he’s trying to prove something from last night, but I certainly believe whatever it is he wants me to.

 

He’s just built up a hard, even rhythm that drives my shoulders into the mattress and knocks my breath out in such an amazing rush when the door suddenly bursts open.

 

“Hey, Murph, I ran into Roc on the way back, an’—”

 

“Shit, not again! You two assholes need some sorta system or somethin’, y’know?”

 

“Roc, cover yer fuckin’ eyes, ye dumb wop! Connor, what th’fuck, man?!?”

 

Sigh.

 

Is it Monday yet? I think I need to spend some time at work…I’ve had too much time off lately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was loosely inspired by irishartemis’s suggestion “Maybe you could consider doing some display of epic clumsiness on your OC's part in front of one or both of the boys that just has them laughing hysterically before they sober up and ask if she's ok.” Obviously, it’s not a literal translation, which I was originally going for. This kind of developed from that as I was writing. If you enjoyed what you read, please take a moment to behind a thought or two. Also, feel free to check out some of my other stories. Thanks.


	4. Tuesday, Week 2

At the sound of a knock on the front door, my heart rate speeds up a bit, and I quickly shut off the television and scoop up all the tissues from my new coffee table.

 

“Just a sec,” I call, and my voice sounds wobbly even to me. I dash about, trashing tissues, hiding the box, and attempting to splash some water on my face so my eyes won’t seem so bloodshot and puffy.

 

You know, what’s the point? It’s not like these quick fixes ever work, and I don’t really care what the person on the other side of the door is going to think.

 

I just need to keep telling myself that.

 

I glance through the peephole just to make certain, and sure enough it’s Connor. He’s shoved his hands into his pockets, chewing on his lip and staring at his feet.

 

I figured.

 

I unchain and unlock the door, holding it open a couple of feet or so but making sure to stand in the opening. I have no intention of inviting him in.

 

“What’s up? We weren’t going to hang out tonight; I called you guys to make sure and everything. Why’re you here?” All considering, I think my voice comes out fairly steady. Probably more snarky than absolutely necessary, but I made my feelings and opinion on Monday night perfectly clear, so I feel I have a right to a little over-snarkiness.

 

His eyes slide up to mine, and despite my best efforts, my stupid, traitorous heart melts just a little. His forehead has the deep furrows it gets when he’s worried about something, and I can tell he didn’t sleep well last night. He hasn’t shaved today, and honestly he does look a little rough. Which is kind of ridiculous, since I just saw him yesterday.

 

Jeez, why can I not stay mad at my two idiots?

 

He seems to be trying to smile reassuringly but isn’t sure if he should or not. “I just…er…well, I wanted t’apologize again an’ check on ye, lass.”

 

“Well, I’m fine, so thanks but—”

 

 “Ye ain’t fine, I c’n see ye been cryin’. We were a bit outta line last night, had too much to drink, an’ we—”

 

Oh, for Pete’s sake. “I haven’t been crying because of you two idiots. Come in and we’ll talk, but don’t expect _anything_ , you hear me? Hands where I can see them at _all times_.”

 

He holds his hands up in mock surrender as a relieved smile brightens his face. If I were ridiculous and poetic and gooey sap-like, I’d be thinking of comparisons to the sun coming out at the end of a cloudy day and…yeah, I’m totally that person. Sigh.

 

He shuts the door behind us and follows me back to the couch. Connor sits at one end, and I place myself at the far end, sitting sideways so I can watch him.

 

“So why you and not both of you? Your brother said just as much shit as you, where’s his apology?”

 

Connor leans forward, one elbow resting on a knee while he scratches the back of his neck with his other hand. “We didn’t want t’team up against ye, so we thought it should be one at a time.”

 

“First of all, good call. You two did plenty of ganging up on me last night. Second, did you win or lose in order to be the first one to come see me?”

 

Awkward silence fills the room.

 

“That’s what I thought. Well, bonus points for sucking it up and getting it over with quickly enough.” I sigh and relax a little against the arm of the sofa.

 

“Look, Connor, I’m ticked off at both of you, but I’m getting over it, and I’m not torn up about it. I told you last night that you and Murphy took the teasing too far. I had to live through last week, I didn’t need every embarrassing detail recounted and rehashed in stereo by the two of you in front of the entire I-hate-Mondays crowd at McGinty’s. Especially not our Sunday afternoon pre-lunch incident.”

 

Connor opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. I’m not quite done yet. “The thing is, I get it. You and Murphy have been a team for your whole lives, and I’m not looking to break that up. However, you do have to understand that if you continue to use your combined powers for evil instead of good, I will find a way to make both of you pay.” I say the last part with a smile to soften the blow.

 

“Connor, I don’t know what it is that the three of us have going, but I’m sure as hell not done with the two of you yet, and I’m much more likely to get even than to get out.”

 

Connor manages to look extremely relieved and slightly bothered at the same time. “Actually, lass, that’s somethin’ else I thought we might talk about. Ye said somethin’ Sunday night, an’ I was hopin’ ye might want t—”

 

“Shut up, Connor!” I’ve only just realized how long we’ve been talking, and deep conversation or no, there’s no way I’m missing my favorite part. I snatch up my remote and switch the television back on just in time to see the last commercial fade back into my movie.

 

On the screen a man, two boys, and a girl are dressed up in holiday clothes and playing in the backyard. They’re still, listening to something, and the little girl drops from where she’s been hanging on the man’s back. The smallest boy, maybe five or six years old and clad in a red sweater, walks towards the woods at the edge of the yard and puts his hands to his mouth.

 

“Here, Chance, here boy!”

 

I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes already, and I curse under my breath that I moved the tissues. The family on the screen, now joined by the mother, listens as the dog barking in the background draws closer. Suddenly, a black and white American bulldog tops the hill and barrels straight at the little boy. After a few seconds of rejoicing, they’re joined by a Himalayan cat who is immediately scooped up and squeezed by the little girl.

 

“Lass, what—”

 

“Shut up, Connor, this is the best part!”

 

The oldest boy watches the hill for a moment, the hope on his face dying. “Come on, Shadow.” But no one else appears. He stares for a longer moment, sadness and anger crossing his features. “He was old. It was too far, he was just too old.”

 

 He turns to go into the house, but then the mother looks up and sees something and gasps. Peter turns back to see an old, muddy golden retriever slowly limping over the top of the hill.

 

“Peter,” the dog says softly (it is Disney, after all).

 

“Shadow!” Peter cries and takes off running.

 

And I lose it completely, sobbing with tears rolling down my face. I’d already been crying before Connor showed up because Shadow fell down the hole at the construction site, but this part has never failed to reduce me to an absolute, blubbering, snotting, idiotic mess.

 

Connor is at a loss for words, but when I move towards him he has the sense to open his arms and pull me tight against his side. He strokes my hair as I soak the shoulder of the coat he’d been so nervous he forgot to take it off. He rocks me gently and makes vague shushing noises as I slowly cry myself out.

 

“They play this damned movie every year right around now, and it’s made me cry every freakin’ time,” I wail. “It’s like a curse. If it’s on, I have to watch it. If I watch it, I cry like there’s no tomorrow.”

 

A small chuckle rumbles up from Connor’s chest, but he wisely keeps it tamped down. I sniffle and try to wipe the tears from my eyes. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this, I’m a mess. I know I’m ridiculous.”

 

Connor pulls his fingers down from my hair and wipes a stray tear from my cheek. He brushes his lips softly across mine and smiles, bumping his nose to mine. “Ye might be a mess, but yer mine, an’ yer perfect.”

 

“Maybe,” I sniffle, “But this perfect mess might’ve just gotten snot on your coat.” Sighing, I stand and pull Connor up with me, dragging his coat off his shoulders. I step into the kitchen and wet a rag, scrubbing gently at the spot. I’m always surprised the boys’ coat are in as nice condition as they are, considering where the boys work and hang out and how much they rough house, but the coat looks if not new then definitely well taken care of. Go figure.

 

Warm arms reach around from behind me and pull the coat from my hands, laying it on the counter. Connor turns me around and pulls me close, bringing his lips down to meet mine. I return the kiss for a moment before pulling back.

 

“I told you not to expect anything, and I need you to show me your hands right now, Connor MacManus.”

 

There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as he steps backwards, bringing his hands into view. He starts walking backwards, taking my hands in his and pulling me with him toward my bedroom. “Lass, I’m not expectin’ ye t’do a single thing but make as much fuckin’ noise as possible, an’ I promise ye’ll be seein’ a lot more den just me hands.”

 

You know, I think it might not be so bad to lose some moral high ground tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1,000 internet points to the person who figures out the movie, finds the scene on Youtube, AND doesn’t tear up even a little. The next chapter should be smutty, awkward, and hopefully a little bit interesting, because I sure as hell didn't see it coming (heh). If you enjoyed what you read, please take a moment to behind a thought or two. Also, feel free to check out some of my other stories. Thanks.


	5. Thursday, Week 2

So Murphy made his apologies last night and somehow convinced me to come to the boys’ loft for an evening of continued apologizing.

 

I won’t lie, the boy can apologize like nobody’s business.

 

Luckily, since I have to work nine straight days in a row starting next week, I get Thursday, Friday, and Saturday off again this week. Next week will suck, but at least I get some relaxing time before I have to jump back in.

 

Of course, my relaxing time begins by swimming up through a haze of sleep wondering why I feel so damned…mmmm…Oh.

 

Oh, my…

 

A hand is moving slowly, exploringly up my torso, flexing and gripping and sliding in all the right spots. Nails scratch along the underside of my breasts, and a tiny moan squeezes through my lips. My hips shift up reflexively only to immediately discover the whereabouts of the other hand.

 

Deft fingers slide through the slickness between my legs, pinching and pressing, rolling then finally plunging inwards hard enough to make my back arch and my eyes fly open. Murphy meets me with a searing kiss, swallowing my shout and backing off on the intensity of his assault. He pulls back a moment later, fingers still roaming and torturing, his eyes twinkling.

 

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

 

I manage to swallow another moan as my eyes flutter shut again. “Are…you…is this…my new…ooohhh, please…new alarm clock? Please say yes…” He grins and leans down, kissing me softly, but I’m not letting him get away with teasing me today.

 

I reach up, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him all the way over me. He’s forced to move his arms quickly to catch himself or crush me; luckily, Murphy has fairly good reflexes. Also luckily, he’s not bothered to put any clothes on yet. My leg is around his hip and pulling down hard as I thrust upwards, and he’s inside me before he can even pretend to protest.

 

I find that fast action is sometimes the best course of…well…you know.

 

A low, throaty groan slides out of his mouth, and he holds himself still above me for a long moment, eyes shut and head hanging so low our foreheads are almost touching.

 

“Please, Murphy…” I know I’m begging, and I don’t even care. Anything, just as long as he starts moving again.

 

“Ask me again, lass.” His mouth is on my neck, and I swear to God his voice is vibrating through my entire body.

 

“Murphy, I’m not asking, I’m fucking begging you. I need you to start moving sometime in the very near future, and I need it very fucking badly.” I think I phrased that fairly accurately and elegantly.

 

The next several minutes are a delicious, torturous blur of sliding, slipping, grinding, and absolute ecstasy that culminates in noises I was heretofore unaware I could actually make. We both lay tangled, panting and practically vibrating, for a long, glorious time afterwards.

 

I’m just dozing off with my cheek pressed over his heart while Murphy traces patterns on my back, when the phone rings. I grumble and hang on to Murphy, trying to hold him down, but he grins and plants a kiss on my forehead before neatly sliding out of my grip. I glare at his backside (appreciatively, but still a glare) before burying my face in his pillow and burrowing under the blanket.

 

“Hello? Oh, aye, Ma, it’s Murph.”

 

Ma? Huh. That’s…unexpected. I try to not listen in but eventually give up.

 

“Naw, Connor’s at work, it’s just me an’…yeah, same one from last month. Aye, same as the month before that….Ma, it’s the same girl’s been here for the best part of a year, near’s I can count.” He listens for a while, plopping down naked on the couch next to the door and grabbing a pack of cigarettes. He pulls one out with his lips, reaching for a lighter when he freezes.

 

“Ma, y’really don’t have t…No, I ain’t sayin’ no, but…it’s just not nece…At least lemme ask ‘er…Yes, Ma, I’ll get ‘er.” He turns his eyes to me and jerks his head, obviously telling me to get over there to the phone.

 

My eyes are wide with panic. Shit…the woman that spawned these two and raised them wants to talk to me? What the hell am I supposed to say? _Yes, ma’am, I am sleeping with your two angels, yes, both of them, and no, I swear I’m not a whore?_

 

Oh, what a wonderful morning.

 

I shake my head wordlessly, panic written all over my face, and Murphy grins and motions again. _She won’t bite_ , he mouths to me. He pulls the phone back to his ear suddenly, listening. “No, Ma, she’s comin’, she just needs t’put some clothes on first.”

 

Damn it, Murphy, really?!?

 

I don’t remember the walk from the mattress to phone, much like the moments before a dreaded final exam are never able to be recalled later. I somehow remember to bring the blanket, which I wrap around myself like some sort of cuddly armor. My hand is literally shaking as I reach out to take the phone from Murphy. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out at first. Murphy is shaking with supressed laughter as I mentally slap some sense into myself. Yes, this is the same woman I’ve heard all the terrifying stories about, but she’s also an entire ocean away.

 

I should be safe, right?

 

“Hello?”

 

“Dis de lass been shackin’ up wit’me darlin’, baby boys?”

 

Oh, yay. How do I even answer that? I guess honesty and extreme politeness is the best policy.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“S’matter wit ye? Ain’t got yer own place, ye gotta take over me poor boys’ hard earned home?”

 

What? What the fuck have they been telling her? “I do have my own apartment, ma’am; sometimes Connor and Murphy…er…shack up with me. We kind of take turns.”

 

I can hear her exhale on the other end of the crakling line, and I figure she’s probably a smoker like the boys.

 

“Take turns, eh? Izzat what yer callin’ this arrangement? Ye vamp a lotta fellas or just me sweet angels? They’re good lads, not the sort to deserve gettin’ yer hooks stuck in ‘em. Need good, church goin’, God fearin’ lasses, not loose women who have to shack up wit’ honest, workin’ men.”

 

From the look on Murphy’s face, my expression must not be very nervous anymore. He shifts away a couple of inches as if I’m about to explode and he’s afraid of getting caught in the blast.

 

“Excuse me, ma’am, but did you pretty much just call me a whore who’s using your so-called saintly offspring for their housing? Seriously?”

 

Exhale. “Well, darlin’ if th’hooker heels fit…”

 

“I’m sorry, but first off, on what planet are your Satan-spawned, hell-raising children anywhere near saintly or even well-behaved? Second, you don’t know the first damn thing about me. All you know is what you’ve been told by your sons ( _I glare at Murphy who has the decency to blanch_ ), which is apparently severely skewed, especially since we’ve never talked before, much less actually met. Where the fuck do you get off—”

 

The realization sinks in right about the time Mrs. MacManus bursts out in a howling cackle of laughter. Murphy joins in, and even I can’t help the weary smile on my face. I sigh and shake my head.

 

“Hooker Heels, huh? Was it Connor, Murphy, or both of them that put you up to this, Mrs. MacManus?”

 

“T’hell wit’dat ‘Mrs.’ shit, it’s Annabelle or Ma. An’twas both me precious, saintly boys who asked me t’fuck wit’ye, so don’t you let neither of ‘em off t’hook, ye hear me?”

 

“Oh, absolutely. They’ll never see it coming,” I reply, smiling sweetly at Murphy.

 

“Y’got t’not let’em get away wit’shit, girl, or they’ll t’ink dey can take every fuckin’ mile ye got, ye mark me words.”

 

“Believe you me, they will be held accountable for everything from here on out.”

 

“Dere’s m’girl. Now put me no good, ungrateful whelp back on th’line. They’re lucky t’have ye t’put up wit’em, lass, don’t ye let’em forget it.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” I hand the phone back to Murphy who, judging by the look on his face, is getting quite an earful from his mother. I stand, dropping the blanket over his head and sashaying triumphantly over to the shower. I turn on the water then dive onto Connor’s mattress, wrapping up again before I get too cold.

 

Though it takes several minutes for steam to start coming off the water, I’m still in the shower for a little while before Murphy hangs up with a final repentant “Yes, Ma,” and pads quietly across the floor to join me.

 

“How exactly is it,” he says, eyes narrowed as he winds his arms around my waist, “That it takes me an’ Connor weeks t’talk Ma into fuckin’ wit’ye, but ye’ve got her on yer side in just a few sentences?”

 

My face is serious as I turn wide, innocent eyes up to him. “She probably just likes me better…I mean, I didn’t ruin the majority of her adult life, after all, and I do tend to improve life for her now, as I’m working myself to the bone to keep her low-life, good-for-nothing offspring out of the trouble they constantly throw themselves into.”

 

“Trouble, huh?” Murphy murmurs against my neck. “I think I might be gettin’ a bit tempted t’start some trouble in th’near future…mind gettin’ me out of it?”

 

My back meets the wall suddenly, eliciting a startled squeak from me. My eyes flutter shut as his lips travel southward, and the corners of my lips curl up as I reply, “I think I can handle you, yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll start with a shout-out to PiercedHeart114, the lovely person who gave me the idea for this one. It's strange, but this chapter seems to create a lot of requests for more things with our ofc and the boys' Ma. I can't promise anything, really, I've got a lot of plans that I need to get off the ground, but as always, if you have comments or requests, feel free to let me know. That's how most of these stories and chapters came to be in the first place. If you enjoyed what you read, please take a moment to behind a thought or two. Also, feel free to check out some of my other stories. Thanks.


	6. Friday, Week 2

It’s been nearly five hours, and Connor has barely spoken to me. I don’t count grunts unless we’re in a much more pleasant, clothes-optional environment. He’s deigned to sit next to me at the bar, but he’s basically ignored me in the hour that we’ve been at McGinty’s, choosing instead to talk to nearly everyone else in the place while unconsciously toying with the knit cap he’s wearing.

 

Sighing, I finish my drink and wonder if it’d be worth the resultant semi-argument if I just left and went home. I slip off my stool, debating door or bathroom and wishing for something to make my decision for me. Luckily, a distraction comes in the form of Murphy and Rocco making their typical noisy entrances as Rocco yells something rude at Doc. Murphy makes an excited beeline for me and his brother, cheerfully oblivious to the sulky expression on Connor’s face.

 

“Hey!” Murphy grabs me up, spinning me around and kissing me soundly before setting me back down. I’m so relieved to have one of them be happy to see me that I can’t help the smile and warmth that spread over my face as he grins down at me. “Been waitin’ twelve whole hours t’see ye, didn’t think I’d make it! Y’miss me?”

 

“Immensely and more than you’d think.” I can’t help the deflation that creeps into my voice, and Murphy doesn’t miss my quick glance at Connor’s determinedly sullen back. His eyes narrow slightly as the grin slides from his face.

 

Glancing between me and his twin, Murphy slaps Connor on the back as he claims my vacated seat. I move down, accepting an exuberant hug from Rocco as I hear Murphy say, “What’s up, brudder? Y’look like someone told ye none o’those stunts in th’Eastwood movies was real. Why th’bitchy face, aside from yer face just bein’ bitchy?”

 

Connor growls something indecipherable to Murphy as Doc brings a round over for the four of us, and I sigh again. I don’t know why I thought Murphy’s arrival would pull Connor out of his mood. I’ve been trying four hours, and nothing I’ve tried works.

 

I haven’t tried _everything_ , but I don’t exactly feel like I should have to apologize for something that isn’t my fault, even if Connor disagrees. I swear boys really can be worse than girls about this kind of shit.

 

As per usual, Murphy is doing very little in the way of taking Connor’s mood seriously and continues to do his best to prod and harass his brother into reacting. Before I can warn him not to, Murphy laughs and says, “Th’fuck ye wearin’ this shit inside for anyway? Look like a damned smuggler or somethin’!” and swipes the hat from Connor’s head.

 

Well, there went what was left of the evening.

 

Connor snatches the hat from Murphy’s hand, jamming it back onto his head but not before most of the room gets a good look at Connor’s hair…or, rather, lack thereof. His fabulous, light-brown, I’ve-just-been-fucked-and-didn’t-bother-to-brush-my-hair has been shorn to within a quarter inch of its life. This is quite a shock to everyone in the bar but me, though I’m cringing at his impending reaction.

 

“Mind yer fuckin’ business, and keep yer fuckin’ hands t’yerself, Murph!” Connor snaps. Murphy glances at me, his face bewildered, but he holds his hands up in resignation. There’s really no reasoning with Connor when he’s like this.

 

“So…what…uh…happened t’yer hair, Con? Piss off yer stylist?” Damn it, Murphy! Just leave it alone!

 

I do my best to tune out their conversation, as I was there for the whole thing and don’t feel like reliving it. Might as well let Connor let some steam off; maybe he’ll feel better after he bitches a bit. And then I hear my name and the words “laughed at me” and “fuckin’ mistake.”

 

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I don’t have to put up with this shit; I’m going home.

 

I slip off my seat with enough force that the stool rocks, threatening to topple over. Rocco and both of the boys glance up at me, and I can feel the heat spreading over my face as the back of my eyes start to sting. I know I’m overreacting just a bit, but if I’m overreacting, then Connor is up for the fucking Oscar tonight because he’s perfectly playing the part of Today’s Asshole.

 

So I tell him that.

 

“Connor MacManus, you are being absolutely fucking childish about this. Your haircut is not my fault, and it’s not even that bad! I didn’t mean anything rude by what I said earlier, and I’d rather spend the rest of the night alone than listen to you bitch, moan, and blame me because you can’t fucking pay attention. Get over it already, it will _fucking grow back_!”

 

Aaaaand now everyone is staring at me. Oh, joy. You know what? Who the fuck cares? I’m leaving anyway.

 

I stalk to the door, grabbing my coat and exiting before anyone has time to react. It’s already dark, so I walk a short distance from the door and start looking for a cab to wave down rather than heading for the subway. Unfortunately, cabs don’t tend to frequent this neighborhood after dark much, so I’m in for a bit of a wait. That should be an absolute joy in this lovely, prematurely frigid weather.

 

Especially with a wet face and a runny nose.

 

The door opens and closes behind me, sending a burst of the cheerful and bustling noise that always patronizes McGinty’s on Friday nights. Quiet footsteps edge towards me, which I studiously ignore.

 

Jerk. Let him stand in the cold for a while, too.

 

“So…” Oh, he is not trying to put this on me. He can start the damned conversation. If it weren’t so dark already, I’d be walking away from him, but I’d rather not get mugged to top off this gem of an evening, so I suck it up and wait for Connor to remove his foot from his mouth.

 

“So what?” Not my most mature moment, I’ll give you, but I’m not feeling particularly charitable.

 

“I mighta overreacted just a tad. Er—” Connor actually takes a step back, hands raised at the look I turn on him. He backpedals rather quickly. “A bit. A lot. I was pissed, and I shouldn’t’a taken it out on ye.”

 

“You’re damn right! Jesus, Connor, you’re really going to be like this after the way you two acted Monday night? Hasn’t this week been fucked up enough already? If what I said earlier bothered you, you should have told me then! You know I didn’t mean anything by it! Hell, I liked having something to grab on to, you think I don’t miss it just as much as you?!?”

 

There’s a silent pause, then:

 

“Well, to be fair, y’coulda mentioned that a bit earlier, too. Day mighta turned out a bit different.” His tone is so reasonable that I can’t help but lose some of my righteous indignation. “I mean, ye don’t exactly indicate yer turned on when ye compare me t’livestock.”

 

“Connor, you are such a girl sometimes! I just said your hair was fluffy like a sheep! I happen to like fluffy things, and your hair was getting long. I didn’t say you had to get it cut, I did not tell you to go to the barber’s school instead of a shop, and I sure as hell did not tell you to describe your desired style as ‘somethin’ I don’t have t’fuck wit’ too much’! You did all that on your own, you whiny ass!”

 

My rant ends with me staring incredulously as he bursts out laughing and pulls me into a blessedly warm hug.

 

“Lass, ye’ve been wit’ me an Murph fer nigh on a year or more now, an’ that’s th’best y’can do t’sound like us? That was fuckin’ horrible, ye sounded an absolute fool!”

 

“Only because I was mimicking you,” I grumble, but I’m smiling into his shoulder. My traitorous arms find their way around his waist, and I snuggle in more closely.

 

“Forgive me?” he asks, pulling back a few inches and searching my face carefully.

 

“I dunno…you were a jerk for most of the afternoon. Kind of took the shine off one of my off days.”

 

“How ‘bout I make it up to ye? Murph an’ I’ll take ye t’th’carnival t’morra night?” He throws an arm around my shoulder and starts walking us both back towards the bar.

 

“Isn’t it kind of late in the year for a carnival?” I ask, pulling him to a stop just shy of the doorway. He shrugs.

 

“I just know they’re in town, an’ ye might enjoy an’ actual date-sorta night ‘stead o’just hangin’ out here.”

 

I eye him speculatively before reluctantly grinning. “I will accept that as your apology on one condition.”

 

“What’s that?” He’s suspicious now, and rightly so.

 

“Lose the hat for the rest of the night, at least while we’re inside.” His mouth opens, immediately ready to refuse, but I lean close with a half-smile on my lips. “I’ll make it worth your while,” I murmur, stretching up on my toes to bat my eyelashes at him.

 

He blinks, confused and tempted by my sudden mood change. “How?”

 

I pull the cap from his head, and he shivers as a chill breeze hits his newly shorn hair. The barber student got a bit overly enthusiastic before anyone could stop him. I just manage to hold back a sigh of regret. That would just hurt the situation, and it’s only hair: it’ll grow back, and we’ll both live.

 

“Well,” I say, resting my arms casually over his shoulders so my fingers are resting just behind his head, “there is one benefit to having drastically shortened hair, at least for a while.” I gently run my fingers from the base of his skull to the very front of his head, staying at the very ends of his hair and not touching his scalp. While I miss his graspable, sexy-as-hell hair, this new cut is spiky and silky, kind of like running my fingers over velvet in the wrong direction. Connor shudders, a sharp breath hissing through his teeth.

 

“S’pose…I might…see yer point…”

 

I barely let him finish talking before I press down, dragging my nails across his scalp all the way from his front hairline back to his neck where I started. A growl escapes Connor, and he shudders almost violently, eyes squeezing shut and lips pressed into a thin line.

 

Without warning, he seizes one of my hands from behind his head, breathing like he’s just finished a marathon, and practically drags me in the direction of the boys’ place.

 

“What happened to going back inside? Aren’t Murph and Rocco waiting for you?” I’m confused but not entirely displeased as Connor quickens his pace.

 

“They’ll live,” he says shortly. It’s more than another minute or two before he’s practically kicking open the outer door to their building. Then he’s pulling me into the elevator and slamming the gate shut.

 

I lean back against the wall as the elevator starts moving. Connor turns a look of such heat and intensity on me that every drop of moisture in my mouth instantly dries up. He closes the distance between us and drapes my arms over his shoulders. He leans down until his lips are almost touching mine.

 

“Y’seemed t’enjoy feelin’ up m’new haircut. Know y’don’t like audiences, thought ye might want some private time t’enjoy yerself a bit more; y’know, without interruption.”

 

“Oh, so this is for my benefit,” I murmur, dragging my fingertips over the sensitive skin around his ears. I can feel his grin against my cheek as he shivers once more at my touch.

 

“Y’know me, lass; I live t’serve ye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's start with a shout-out to MacDixon Love for the ideas for both this chapter and the next, which will be the last in this story. Explanations and apologies for the delays on the chapter at the end. I must’ve been a bit pissy when I wrote this because there’s a bit more cursing than normal. Go figure. If you enjoyed what you read, please take a moment to behind a thought or two. Also, feel free to check out some of my other stories. Thanks.


	7. Saturday, Week 2 - Part 1

I am so wonderfully exhausted. A night out with my boys that didn’t result in (complete) disaster. No one got in a fight (with a stranger), no one did (got caught doing) anything illegal or (too) indecent (by authorities), and we all made it home without losing life and/or limb, so I’d call tonight’s date a definite success.

 

Although there might be a couple of painful holes in the egos of a certain pair of Irishmen tonight.

 

All I want to do now is lay back and reminisce about my favorite bits while I drift off to sleep.

 

**— What to Do, What to Do…—**

 

“So, what d’ye want t’do first?” Connor has my arm linked through his while Murphy walks a few paces ahead, taking in all the different booths we’re passing. We’re halfway between the rides and the games, and I’m almost bouncing I’m so excited.

 

“I have no idea. I’ve never been to a carnival before. I mean,” I add quickly at the looks of disbelief both boys turn on me, “I’ve seen them in movies and stuff, but I’ve never been to one. My family didn’t…y’know…do stuff…like…that…What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“What d’ye mean ‘didn’t do stuff like that’?” Connor asks slowly. “Stuff like what? Have fun?” He lets out a sharp “oof!” as I send my elbow into his ribs, and Murphy grins before intervening.

 

“Why don’t we look around a bit, let ye see what all there is t’do, then ye c’n decide where ye want t’go.”

 

“Why do I have to pick, though? You two have obviously been to a carnival before, what’s fun?”

 

“Beatin’ th’shit outta Connor at all th’games is usually pretty fun,” Murphy chimes in, taking my other arm. I sigh outwardly, but I knew the bickering was coming, and it does nothing to dampen my mood. You can’t take these two anywhere without fighting, really, and now they’ve brought me somewhere that not only do they want to show off but they’re going to want to show each other up, as well. The epitome of inevitability.

 

So they lead the way down the midway, bragging about who’s better at which game, who got their ass kicked at what booth, how these things never have anything decent to drink (God forbid they try a soda once in a while). I simply relax and let the bickering flow around me, laughing at any particularly good burns, finally slipping out from between them to avoid the increasing blows. My grin brightens as the twins walk just ahead of me, arguing and punching, and I feel a ridiculous rush of affection for my immature pair of Irish boys.

 

This is definitely the start of an epically awesome night.

 

 

**— It Really Does Taste Better—**

 

“So, yeah, only if you want me puking all over you. And we’ve seen me puke; it’s a bit less than fun.”

 

“But how can ye go to a carnival an’ not go on any rides?” Murphy asks. Bless him, he looks genuinely confused, and I can’t help the sudden smile that tugs my mouth at the look on his face. I pull off a small tuft of cotton candy to devour, licking my fingers clean. Murphy’s eyes dart to where my tongue is running over my fingers, then he glances away quickly before he thinks I’ve seen him staring.

 

“First of all,” I say, smirking at his ridiculous obviousness, “I didn’t say ‘no rides.’ I said no rides that spin fast, drop quickly, rock in any way, or go upside down. Y’know, the ones that affect people who get motion sick easily. Especially since you’ve already given me sugar. But if you’d like an encore of my intestinal pyrotechnics from the other night in the diner, by all means, lead the way to the pirate ship or the roller coaster.”

 

I dodge Connor’s swipe at my cotton candy as we stroll along the midway and continue. “Second, there are plenty of other rides and things. I mean, if we’re going cliché with this date, someone’s for to take me on the Ferris wheel, and there’s always the haunted house. Plus, I definitely want to take a walk through that fun house; I heard somebody talking about the mirror maze, and I love mazes! I’m terrible at them, but I absolutely adore them.”

 

“Dibs on taken ye through th’haunted house!” Connor says quickly, making another attempt on my cotton candy. Laughing, I manage to hold him off for nearly fifteen seconds before Murphy snatches the paper cone out of my hand from the other side and shoves the majority of the sugar fluff into his mouth.

 

Sighing, I gaze sadly the now-bereft paper cone Murphy is clutching, though I have to admit his sugary, pink-tinged smile is just a tad intriguing. Apparently now it’s my turn to stare, and Murphy of course doesn’t miss my change in expression. The corner of his mouth tugs up slightly, one eyebrow raised, and a tingle jolts up my spine. Damn him for having that effect on me.

 

I narrow my eyes at Murphy. “You could’ve gotten your own, you know…I was enjoying that.”

 

“Stolen food tastes better,” he smirks, planting a sticky kiss on my cheek. He steps back, then curses suddenly, rubbing the back of his head where Connor’s palm has just landed with a resounding smack and glaring at his brother. “Th’ fuck was that for?!? Fuck’s wrong wit’ye?”

 

“Ye don’t steal from our lass, dumbass!”

 

I turn an incredulous look on Connor, “You mean like you were trying to do for the last five minutes?”

 

Connor grins, resolutely remorseless, and I have to work hard to suppress my desire to return his grin. Good grief; being out with these two tonight is really turning on my mushy, goofy side, and I just know I’m going to say something ridiculous and movie-scale cliché if I’m not careful.

 

“I was makin’ ye smile, an’ I didn’t do any harm, after all. Fucker over here made ye sad. Completely different.”

 

I open my mouth to retort and find that I can’t come up with a single counterpoint.

 

“Tell ye what, lass,” Connor continues in his “I’ve got a plan, and I’m not afraid to use it” tone, “I’ll go ahead and take ye through th’haunted house while Murph here gets ye yer own replacement cotton candy. Then Murph can meet us over next to the games an’ such so I can show ye how much a of a pussy m’brudder really is.”

 

Before I can protest and Murphy can retaliate, Connor is pulling me off in the direction of the haunted house. Though I don’t hear Murphy make any comments, I do notice the wadded-up paper cone that whizzes past Connor’s ear, missing its target by only an inch or so.

 

“See? Couldn’t hit th’side of a barn if he was tossin’ basketballs. Throws worse’n a girl, Murph does.”

 

I glance back at Murph to see him scowling in Connor’s direction, and I shoot him a brilliant, attempted-apologetic smile and blow him a kiss. Just before we plunge into a large crowd of people and Murphy disappears from view, I see the corner of his mouth tug up in that wonderful, swoon-worthy smirk, and my goofy, overly-clichéd heart melts just a little more.

 

We are going to get into so much trouble tonight.

 

**— Creepiest Make-Out Spot Ever—**

 

The line outside the haunted house isn’t long, so I’m not too antsy by the time it’s our turn to enter. There’s only two other couples in our group, and the attendant speeds quickly through his safety, stay-with-the-group speech with a hurried, over-rehearsed tone before telling us to go ahead. Our group shuffles forward as the giant, double-door entrance swings open into a large, bare-looking room with smaller double doors on the other end.

 

Before anyone can make it to the doors on the other side of the room, the entrance slams shut behind us with a crash, and the lights cut out. The other two girls utter terrified shrieks while their respective boys laugh. I hear more shrieks, indignant this time, and I assume the boys are taking advantage of the darkness to cop a feel or two.

 

The thought has only just crossed my mind when I feel Connor’s hands creep around my waist, jerking me suddenly against his chest. Just as his lips find my neck (and I get an inkling of why he might’ve called dibs on this particular attraction) a faint green glow starts up in the middle of the wall in front of us. Everyone looks up at the same time, and I have to admit I’m a bit impressed.

 

A panel on the wall has slid aside to reveal a grotesque, hunched-over figure in an ancient-looking, dusty tuxedo. As he steps out of the alcove in the wall, the lights brighten to reveal rather overdone make-up that is absolutely fantastic, with half his face seemingly sliding from his skull and the other half mutilated by several nasty-looking scars and wounds.

 

Connor is practically vibrating with excitement behind me, and I’m guessing that my movie fanatic boyfriend might have a thing for haunted houses. The man shuffles forward in an awkward, fake limp and smiles ominously, speaking in an outlandish, put-on accent that is attempting to be British, I think.

 

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. I am the caretaker of the Slaine Estate, former home of the late Slaine family, God rest their souls. Please allow me the honor of leading you on a tour of the house and grounds. If you’ll follow me, I trust you’ll enjoy your time here. Please remember to stay with the group…stragglers tend to meet rather unfortunate fates.”

 

Just as he’s finishing his speech, there’s a whooshing noise, and three bodies drop from ropes right in front of the exit from the room, thudding loudly against the doors. The girl closest to the exit jumps backwards into one of the guys with a yelp as the caretaker gives the group a nasty smile.

 

“As I said…best to stay with the group. No telling what might happen.”

 

I exchange a quick, delighted glance with Connor as the caretaker opens the doors, and our group pushes through the dummies suspended from the ceiling. We’re lead from the entryway straight into an extremely old-fashioned living room where lace, velvet, and cobwebs seem to be the mainstay of décor. There’s a fireplace at one end of the room, a large mirror on the wall, a dusty chandelier hanging overhead, and some rather ominous dark splotches splashed around the room.

 

As the caretaker leads us in, pointedly ignoring the stains, and begins describing the history of the room and some of the tragedies that occurred therein, I feel Connor’s hand at my waist slide just a bit lower.

 

Just as the lighting in the room changes to reveal a skeletal woman in cobwebby clothing leering at us from the other side of the mirror, Connor lifts his hand and lands it with a stinging slap right on my backside. I jump, letting out an embarrassingly shrill squawk of surprise, and the other two guys in the groups laugh, thinking I’m as scared as their own girls.

 

I turn burning eyes on Connor, my face flushing, and he smiles, his eyes wide an innocent. “Ye alright? Need me t’hold yer hand an’ keep th’goulies an’ ghosties off of ye?”

 

“The only ghoul in here is you, Connor MacManus,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

 

I’m only just beginning to plot my revenge as we’re led from the room into the next area when Connor leans over and whispers in my ear, “Yer fuckin’ gorgeous when yer pissed, girl, have I mentioned dat to ye before?”

 

And in four seconds flat I go from scathing frustration to stomach-twisting pleasure. How does he do that?

 

The next room is a nearly deserted dining room occupied only by several skeletons seated at various placed around the cluttered table. As we approach, a toy rat squeaks suddenly and whirs its way noisily among the plates of web-covered fake food.

 

As the caretaker begins his speech, Connor’s hand starts moving south again, and I lean back to whisper, “You just managed to charm your way out of that first one, but if you embarrass me again, I will tell everyone at McGinty’s that you squealed like a bitch whenever anything moved in here.”

 

“Ain’t true, an’ they’ll never believe ye,” he murmurs back, but his hand pauses in its downward trek.

 

“They will when Murphy backs me up. I’m not saying I object to groping; far from it. But no more surprise smacks!”

 

Mollified, he grins and slips his hand lower, slowly massaging the still-stinging area through my pants. “No more surprise smacks. Word of honor. Ye have me most sincere apologies.”

 

A disbelieving snort somehow finds its way out of me, but I’m smiling again while we’re lead from the room. As we’re filing past the table, Connor plants a loud, over-enthusiastic kiss on my cheek. As if on cue, all the skeleton heads turn towards us, jaws dropping open with a loud clack, causing both girls to jump and squeal.

 

The next room proves to be a dimly lit children’s nursery complete with a rocking chair that seems to be moving by itself and a cradle with a suspiciously fretful bundle covered by a small blanket. As the caretaker starts in on the gruesome history surrounding the family’s children, Connor’s hand begins creeping lower, slowly sliding down the curve of my ass until his fingers are brushing against my inner thigh.

 

A tiny voice in the back of my head momentarily ponders the creepiness of Connor’s actions considering our current location, but the voice is almost immediately drowned out by the very loud, very insistent whining in the front of my head about my choice of thick, sensible, weather-appropriate pants that are currently creating a barrier between Connor’s hand and my suddenly needy skin.

 

A tiny whimper almost escapes, but I just manage to strangle it back. “Connor,” I whisper, my face heating. There’s no way I can keep quiet if he’s going to do this here, and I will not fall to pieces in front of a bunch of complete strangers in a public place.

 

“Shh,” he breathes against my ear as the caretaker drones on; no one is paying a bit of attention to us as we’re standing behind everyone else, but I still feel massively exposed. The fingers of Connor’s free hand brush over my lips, sending a delicious chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the haunted house, and I’m effectively silenced. My pulse quickens as he murmurs, “Don’t want t’draw attention, lass. Just relax an’ listen t’th’nice man’s story.”

 

The fingers on my lips slide down my chin and neck, raising goosebumps on my arms before finally coming to a rest over the hollow at the base of my throat. He increases the pressure of his other hand ever so slightly as he begins to trace a burning trail along the inner seam of my pants. My breath hitches out in tiny, whistling gasps that for some reason no one else is noticing, and yet it’s the only sound I seem to be able to hear over the pounding of my heart.

 

Just as the caretaker ends his story, the twitching bundle in the cradle lets out a chilling, inhuman wail, and predictably one of the girls lets out a scared noise, startling me from my libido-induced haze. The group moves towards the next door, and I almost groan in disappointment at the sudden absence of Connor’s southerly-inclined fingers. His other hands tightens pleasantly on my shoulder and collarbone, steering me after our group but keeping us just a little further back.

 

The next room and the two after are a blur of small snatches of story, squeals and laughter from the rest of our group, and increasingly torturous waves of taunting pleasure from Connor’s extremely talented hands.

 

In the very last room, the caretaker is winding up his speech, and I am starting to wonder if Connor is actually trying to drive me crazy. I can’t tell if my nerves are more physically or emotionally frayed, but I can’t deny how much I’m loving every second.

 

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll just follow me, we’ll conclude the tour with a stroll through the memorial courtyard. Many of the Slaine family members have been laid to rest on these very grounds. Well,” he amends, pausing thoughtfully, “they were buried here, at any rate. I don’t know that I could say they’re resting, exactly.”

 

He leads us outside, and I have to admit the carnival has gone to town on this one. Several large, obviously fake (but still impressive) marble and granite headstones and statues dot the small courtyard, surrounded by knee-high tall grass and a few dead, twisted trees.

 

The group begins to wind its way through the headstones as the caretaker continues to creepily intone his stories regarding each name we pass. As we approach a particularly large dead tree, Connor runs a finger down the side of my neck, and I suck in a quick breath, biting down hard on my lip as he barely brushes across my overly-sensitized skin.

 

Oh, this means war.

 

I watch the group carefully, slowing my pace just a bit and waiting for the opportune moment. Just as the last person ahead of me rounds a corner, I turn on Connor and jerk him around to the far side of the tree, slamming him hard enough against the fake bark to rattle the fake branches overhead. Luckily, surprise is on my side because I’d never have been able to move him so much otherwise.

 

Before he can do more than let out a startled grunt I’m practically climbing him and rather earnestly smashing my mouth against his. True to form, Connor is only frozen for the briefest of moments before he spins, pinning me to the tree, hiking my knee around his hip, and proceeding to apply his superbly talented hands to some rather attention-starved areas.

 

He does amazingly quick work to the buttons on my shirt, and I moan as the chill air hits my flushed skin. I don’t even care that we’re still technically in public, and all I can think about right now is finding more of his skin to taste. His teeth graze the spot where my neck meets my shoulder just as he finally manages to fumble to button and zipper open on my pants, and I whimper something that’s supposed to come out as a “please,” bucking my hips forward into his touch. His fingers have only just slid beneath the hem of my underwear when there’s a crunching sound of footsteps and a throat clearing.

 

“Uh…sorry to interrupt, folks, but there’s another group due through here in a few minutes, and I didn’t figure you’d want to put on a show for ‘em. Gotta ask you to clear out.”

 

Connor glances up at my shocked, bright crimson face and lets out a short, half-regretful, half-rueful laugh. He reluctantly removes his hands and gently disengages my leg from his hip, helping me find my footing before stepping around the tree to distract our interloper and give me time to right myself. As I hastily set about righting my clothing with shaking fingers, I hear Connor cheerfully apologizing to whomever has come to fetch us.

 

“Didn’t think anyone’d miss us, t’be honest. Hope we’re not in too much trouble?”

 

“Naw, we get a few of you guys ever night; s’why we go on about no stragglers and do all those headcounts after every stop. This is actually the most popular spot, although you’d be surprised how many people think it’s kinky to make out in the kids’ room. Creepy, yeah?”

 I step around the tree and find Connor and the caretaker having a jolly time, seemingly oblivious to my flaming face and obvious discomfort. The caretaker glances at me and grins, and I self-consciously pull my jacket tightly around my torso as Connor slings his arm over my shoulders. The caretaker’s grin widens under his make-up, and he resumes his ridiculous, ghoulish voice.

 

“If you would be so kind as to cease your activities and follow me, please. The souls of this house are disturbed enough as it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This did not want to get written. I think I started it over five different ways before I landed on this one. There will be one more part consisting of a few different pieces like this one, then we’ll call this story complete. Thanks so much to everyone who’s joined in and stuck with me so far. If you enjoyed what you read, please take a moment to behind a thought or two. Also, feel free to check out some of my other stories. Thanks.


	8. Saturday, Week 2 - Part 2

Saturday, Week 2 – Part 2:

— It's a Bit Nipply Out Tonight—

"Just for ye, lass! 'M real sorry fer makin' ye use yer sad face earlier." Murphy is solemn and sincere long enough to present me with my new cotton candy before turning and punching Connor hard in the shoulder.

"Took ye fuckin' long enough, y'bastard! Felt like a right idiot sittin' out here holdin' a giant pink puff!"

"But, Murph," Connor whines innocently, "pink goes so good wit' yer eyes, 'm sure th'fellas were just linin' up t'sweep ye off yer feet, y' bein' so sweet an' all.."

Oh, lord, I need to stop this now or it'll go on for hours.

"So, games anyone? Next week's tab at McGinty's says I can beat both of you at something by the end of the night." That's got their interest at least. Well, it has Connor's interest. Murphy, on the other hand, is suddenly staring rather intently at my chest.

"Uh…Murph? Am I cold or something?"

"Huh?" Murphy shakes his head, clearing it, and turns his face to mine. "Sorry, lass?"

"You're staring at my chest, which I don't actually object to, but you seem rather…overly fascinated. Am I cold and it's showing or something?"

"Well, lass, it's just…Before ye went in th'haunted house, yer shirt was buttoned right. Now, though, well…eh…"

I glance down and find to my horror that in my hurry earlier I missed a couple of buttons and there's a large, gaping opening in my shirt that my shiny, emerald green bra is cheerfully showing through.

"Did ye not feel a bit of a breeze there, girl?" Connor asks in what is probably supposed to be a helpful tone. I glare at him, shoving my cotton candy back at Murphy and carefully re-buttoning my shirt.

"No! Did you feel my foot up your ass, though, because I'm considering it hard enough for it to've already happened! Why didn't you say anything?"

"I swear, I didn't notice!" Connor holds his hands up defensively, backing up a step and doing his best to hold back his grin, "Ye pulled yer jacket all tight around ye, an'—"

"Son of a bitch, that's why the haunted house guy was grinning at me! Oh, he is dead!" Well…dead-er.

Murphy placatingly holds out my cotton candy with a neutral expression on his face. "Why don't we find some games fer ye t'show us up at an' make ye feel a bit better instead o'beatin' on th'workers?"

I seriously consider staying upset for a few moments, but honestly I've been having too much fun so far to give it up just so I can be pissy. "Fine, but I'm going to need to go get a corn dog or something first. We haven't eaten for real yet, and I need something more substantial to fuel my raging awesomeness."

Murphy grins and offers me his arm. "There's m'girl."

I take the proffered arm, looking over at Connor, who is staring fixedly at my chest. I glance downwards, slightly panicked, but my shirt is securely buttoned now. "What's wrong? Am I missing something? I know I buttoned it right this time."

He grins, taking my other arm. "Just checkin'. Didn't want t'miss somethin' so important a second time around."

— Ye Throw Like a Girl—

Ten minutes, two corn dogs, and one cotton candy later, I'm ready to put my boys to shame. What I haven't taken into account, however, is that apparently lifting pints, beating on each other constantly, working in the meat packing plant, and eating whatever the hell Annabelle raised them on has resulted in two semi-athletic, fairly well-coordinated men who seem to excel rather ridiculously at carnival games.

By the time they've out-manned me at the ring toss, test-your-strength, milk bottle toss, rope ladder climb, and the fish bowl toss, I'm loaded down with two respectably-sized stuffed dogs (matching, of course, though one is blue and the other green), a plastic goblet, and a chocolate bar larger than my face. Murphy actually won me a goldfish, but I'm no good with pets, so I gave it to the next crying child we came across and high-tailed it away before the parents could protest.

I'm halfway between seriously impressed and seriously disgruntled, and I am completely determined to show them up at something tonight. They, of course, are taking turns pointing out to me why each of them is superior to the other based on their successes this evening.

"An' wit' Connor over here throwin' like a girl an' all—"

"Fuck you! Out-threw our girl two t'one back there!"

"True," I interject reasonably, "but I throw like a girl because I am one. What's your excuse?"

Connor's face reddens just a bit as he starts to retort, "Now, that's just—"

"That one!"

"What?" I've stopped so suddenly that Connor runs into me, jostling the plastic goblet from my arms and nearly making me drop everything else, but I'm not paying enough attention to him to care.

"That's the game where I'm finally going to beat the snot out of you two!"

Murphy grabs the goblet from the ground, placing it back on top of my pile of swag as he glances around, following my gaze until his eyes land on one of the larger booths. "Archery? Y'sure, lass? Yer aim's not so hot t'night. Ye don't just want t'admit defeat an' go on t'th'fun house wit' me?"

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively for emphasis, but I'm already heading for the booth, attention completely diverted from him and Connor. There's a small range set up within the booth with three circular targets hanging on the back wall about twenty or thirty feet from the line in the dirt where the attendant stands. On the line, in front of each target, are three metal stands with a ring on one side and a hook on the other about three feet high. Five arrows lean inside each ring, while a bow hangs sideways on each hook.

As we draw nearer, I can hear the attendant calling, "Five shots, five tries to pop the balloon! Two dollars a round, three rounds for five dollars!"

"Ye've got terrible aim, lass. Sure ye don't want t'try somethin' else?" Connor's tone is kind, but I also happen to know that he wants to finish the night with the promise of his next week's tab at McGinty's paid for, so I don't bother listening.

Instead, I turn large, innocent eyes on him and say, "If you're that worried, why don't you and Murphy go first and teach me how it's done? I'm sure you'd both be able to show me enough to at least not embarrass myself. Or…well, Murphy can, at any rate, if you're worried about your own aim. I mean, he did out-throw both of us, after all. How about this one is on me. Will you feel better then?"

With Connor's pride sufficiently singed and Murphy grinning at me behind his brother's back, they step up to the line and pluck their bows from each of their hooks while I set my things on the ground next to the third stand and hand a five to the attendant.

"Here's how it works, gentlemen!" the attendant calls, starting to pull a bow from his shoulder, but Connor cuts him off.

"It's alright, lad, we got dis one. T'anks, anyhow."

The archery attendant catches my eye and winks, and I shoot him a grin before turning back to my twin idiots. If there's one thing I've picked up from the games tonight, it's that you always watch the attendant's demonstration.

I turn my critiquing mode on, carefully observing how Connor and Murphy load their bows, how they stand, how far back they draw the string. I have to bite my lip to keep from correcting Connor's stance and Murphy's grip on the nock of the arrow, but that would give my game away. Besides, they aren't doing too badly on their own. Most of their arrows end up in the yellow and red areas, and though they brush their balloons and even nick it once or twice (causing them to bounce back and forth cheerfully and almost mockingly on the bulls eye), neither succeeds in popping it.

"Your turn, miss?" The attendant grins at me as he goes to retrieve the arrows from the targets. "Care for a proper demonstration?"

"I would, thanks," I reply, meticulously avoiding Connor and Murphy's eyes.

I watch the attendant just as carefully as I did Connor and Murphy, paying special attention to how far he draws the bow back and where he sights from. His arrow lands in the balloon with a pop as little shreds of red latex explode outward. I nod to myself as he hurries over to retrieve the arrow and pin up a replacement balloon.

While he's at the other end of the range, I take a moment to inspect the arrows at each of the stands. Sure enough, three out of five arrows in each stand are fairly well abused with most of the plastic feathers either maimed or missing altogether.

I take the two good arrows from Murphy's stand and one from Connor's, sliding them into my own stand, removing the bad ones and handing them to the newly-returned attendant. He grins knowingly and asks, "Need anything else before you start?"

"As a matter of fact, if you don't object, can I test the pull on your bow? I think these might be a bit weak for me."

I ignore the incredulous looks from Connor and Murphy as the attendant cheerfully hands over his bow. I test the draw, lifting the bow and pulling the string back to my cheek. Instead of releasing the empty string with a snap like you see all the people in movies do, I gently follow the string back to its resting position with my hand. I glance at the attendant who is biting his lip to keep from laughing at the looks on Connor's and Murphy's faces.

"Will it do for you, miss?"

"I think it'll work."

"Any time you're ready, then, Robin Hood. Fire away."

My first arrow goes a little to the left, landing close enough to nudge the balloon over just a tad but not pop it. I knew I'd have one arrow to land where I didn't put it, at least until I got a feel for the bow. As luck would have it, though, that arrow at least lands somewhere I can build from. Since I can tell the balloons are under-inflated (and therefore harder to pop), this first arrow works nicely into the strategy I've decided on.

Three arrows later, I've got one arrow that's just above the balloon, on just below, one to the right, and the original that landed just to the left.

I hear a low whistle from next to me as I pick up my last arrow. "Those are some pretty close calls there, lass," Murphy murmurs appreciatively. "Ye didn't miss by much, didja?"

"Who says I missed?" I ask as I load the bow. "I just didn't want the balloon to move." Before he can respond, I draw quickly to my cheek and sight down the arrow then let it fly. Trapped in my cozy little arrow cage, the stubborn balloon has nowhere to bounce, and my arrow pierces it with an extremely satisfying pop.

"That was fuckin' amazing!" Connor crows, throwing an arm around my shoulder as he kisses my cheek.

"Pretty fantastic," the attendant grins as I hand him his bow. "Pick your prize, anything I've got hanging up."

A couple of minutes later, Connor and Murphy have divided my pile of prizes between them while I lug my giant frog along with us.

"So, were ye holdin' out on us at t'other games, or didja just ferget t'mention y'were Robin Hood in a past life?" Murphy quips, nudging me with one shoulder.

"Ten years as a camper, five as a counselor at summer camp. Did I ever mention I used to be a certified American Archery Association instructor? Must've slipped my mind. Anyway, what's next?"

"Bout time fer us t'head over t'th'fun house, yeah?" Murphy says. "Less there's somewhere else y'wanted t'try first?"

"Well, I was kind of hoping to try one of the shooting games, actually. That one with the star?"

"Why?" Connor asks. "Ye gonna channel Annie Oakley next?"

"You remember I told you I'd only ever dated a few guys before I ended up with you two?"

The twins nod stoically, silent acknowledgement of unapproved, past male relationships.

"My first boyfriend ever when I was a teenager was the riflery instructor at camp. His idea of a hot date was to go at the targets until his arm was sore from pumping the action on the bb rifle, and no, that isn't innuendo."

"Thought ye said ye never slept with someone who owned a gun," Murphy reminds me, eyes narrowed.

"I was sixteen Murphy, what exactly do you think we did?"

Impassive stare.

"We were at summer camp! Why would I do that?"

Impassive stare.

"Oh, for the love of anything! No, you Irish man whore, I did not sleep with him, and definitely not while I was at camp! And anyway, he wouldn't have known was to do with a real gun with real bullets or a female who actually wanted to do something sexual with him if they both tried to blow him at the same time!"

Murphy finally seems mollified, which I find interesting, as I've never seen him show anything like jealousy before.

"If th'pair o'ye are done, we can move on t'findin' a shootin' game t'satisfy our cowgirl over here an' prove once an' fer all who's got the best aim," Connor cuts in.

I grin and start forward. "Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!"

— Need Some Time To Reflect—

"Ye ready t'have yer head fucked wit'?" Murphy asks, grinning. I throw a smile over my shoulder to Connor, who is currently scowling and surrounded by my horde of stuffed animals and prizes, which has grown to include an impressive water gun (won by Murphy), a t-shirt with a Celtic knot work shamrock across the chest (won by Connor), and a giant plush panda bear (won by me).

He grimaces theatrically at me when I catch his eye, but it quickly dissolves into that lovely, knee-weakening smile where his eyes crinkle at the corners. He waves cheerfully enough while he pulls his cigarettes out of the pocket of pea coat with his other hand.

"Don't pay him any attention. He's just sore fer bein' left b'hind; was his choice takin' ye t'th haunted house. Stupid choice, rookie mistake."

"How do you mean?" I ask as we round a corner and the giant, barrel-shaped entrance proclaiming "FUNNEST HOUSE!" comes into view.

"Ye've truly never been through a fun house? B'fore?" I shake my head, and Murphy continues, "Well, fer starters, there's plenty more dark corners t'find'n take advantage of. Fer another t'ing, ye don't have a group t'worry about. There's the occasional couple o'people movin' through, but th'haunted house is much more crowded. In th'fun house, though, might even get a bit of alone time fer ourselves, find a nice quiet corner in th'mirror maze t'reflect on things."

I groan and smack his arm, and he laughs, not even trying to dodge. "That was terrible! How long have you been waiting to use that?"

He slides his arm around my waist, pulling me snug to his side and kissing my temple. "Knew ye'd appreciate that one. Thought of it while Connor was harrassin' ye in th'haunted house."

"It's not like I was rebuffing his advances, Murphy. I did kind of jump him in the cemetery."

"Aye, but after spendin' some time playin' house wit' me, ye won't even remember me little brudder's pat'etic attempts at puttin' th'moves on ye."

I privately and sarcastically thank the Lord I didn't harm that side of his ego with the beat down I gave him and Connor at the archery range. Murphy hands our admission price to the man by the entrance who utters a tired and bored, "Watch your step," as we move inside. As the door swings shut behind us, I notice the distinct lack of anyone either already ahead of us inside or approaching behind us, and I figure Murphy must behind right about the haunted house being more popular.

As the door shuts, we cross the very brief entryway that leads directly into a short, spinning hallway that looks like nothing so much as a giant—

"Hence th'barrel entrance," Murphy says cheerfully.

Oh, Sweet Lord above, this will not turn out well. I eye the turning hallway with more than a little trepidation. "We've established my clumsiness, yes? Like, zero physical coordination?"

"I know it looks rough, an' if ye fall, all I can say is stay down an' just kinda aim fer th'end. But while yer up, try t'run sorta…forward but toward th'side. Does that make sense?"

No.

"Uh…maybe you could go first and demonstrate?"

Murphy tosses a smirk at me but obliges, and to my complete shock, he makes it without falling or tripping even slightly, the bastard. He's across so quickly and adeptly that I have a brief flashback to the Lord of the Dance performance I watched on the Oscars last spring, and for one giddy moment I almost ask him if he's related to Michael Flatley. I mean, they're both Irish; there's a chance, yeah?

I clamp down on that impulse, glad that at least now I can see what he means by running forward but "towards" the side. Doesn't mean I can do it, but at least I don't feel stupid anymore.

Mentally, anyways.

"So, it's a bit like a vindictive treadmill on acid?" I ask.

"Somethin' like, yeah. C'mon, give it a shot; I'll only laugh a little, I swear."

That's probably the best offer I'll get from him, too. Deep breath. "A haunted house I can handle. This? You didn't tell me it required athletic ability!"

"Promise I'll make it worth yer while. C'mon, girl, it ain't gonna kill ye."

"Says you, you freakin' Riverdancing, Irish spider monkey," I mutter. He shoots me a rather concerned and confused look, which I shrug off as I gaze at the Whirling Hallway of Pain. Oh, for goodness sake, this is ridiculous! "Fine, I'm coming, but you can't tell Connor, no matter how stupid I look!"

Murphy just grins and holds his arms out and ready for me.

Lord help me, here goes. One…two…

Three steps, a stumble, four more steps, a fall, and several rolls later, I find solid, non-moving ground. Murphy pulls me into a standing position while I grasp his arms for support.

"Any bruises, scrapes?" He's smiling, though I can detect the genuine concern behind his words.

"None that I can see, but you can search for hidden ones later. I'm fine, just…whew…dizzy. Hold me up for a minute, okay?"

"Not bad fer a beginner, ye damn near caught yerself after that first stumble. Mine an' Conner's first time through one o'these I bruised me tailbone an' Connor busted his nose on me elbow. Didn't even have to help him do it, either. Ye don't even have a visible mark on ye, gotta be somethin' said fer that, lass."

"Small favors and all that," I smile weakly. "And thanks for the praise, I promise I'll appreciate it appropriately when my stomach gets out of the barrel and joins the rest of me. Is the rest of this place going to be quite so American Gladiator?"

"Dunno. Most o'th'places are all just a bit different. S'part o'th'fun. Will say, though, probably good yer not wearin' a skirt."

I don't ask.

Five steps into the next hallway, though, three sudden blasts of air coming straight up from the floor underneath me let me know exactly what Murphy meant. I let out a startled, rather girly shriek as I stumble gracelessly backwards into Murphy who thankfully seems eternally ready to catch me.

"There's probably gonna be a lot o'that in this hallway," Murphy says as we start forward again. My heart is thudding in my chest in a way the haunted house could never have caused, and as Murphy's fingers linger on my waist, I notice there are two distinct but equally exciting knots curling deep in my belly.

We've only made it a few more steps forward when the actual freakin' floor starts moving. I cling to Murphy like a barnacle, nearly refusing to move, but he manages to coax me forward a shuffle-step at a time until the floor becomes stationary and logical again.

"That was…unnerving?" I say. "I don't suppose I'd ever do well in California."

And that, of course, is when the lights start switching on and off and loud booms punctuate the rapid-fire flashing. Oh, and every few steps is punctuated by another jet of air blasting from the floor.

If Murphy's hands weren't firmly on my waist slowly urging me forward, I would stay exactly where I am for at least the rest of the night, albeit curled up in a whimpering ball on the floor. Monster movies, ax murderer tales, and ghost stories I can deal with. Being stuck in the middle of what feels like the worst electrical storm ever? Apparently not.

And evidently it doesn't much matter that I know it isn't real.

There's a dim light at the end of the hallway, so Murphy steers me in that direction. We turn a corner to find the flashing and booming ceased and the images gone. Murphy turns me to face him, chaffing my arms a bit.

"Yer shakin'…ye alright there, girl?"

"I don't…don't deal well…with lightning storms." I stutter into silence, taking a moment to regain my mental equilibrium. My heart is thudding so loudly I'm honestly surprised Murphy can't hear it, and I'm still shaking a bit, but I force myself to switch to non-panic mode. Nothing to be scared of, after all; it's all part of the fun, right? "I'm normally…fine…if I'm inside; it's even nice and kind of relaxing, but I can't..."

Murphy's eyes are full of concern, and I feel a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "I'm fine, really. I know that wasn't real back there, it was just too close for comfort is all. I was caught outside in an electric storm when I was a kid, and I just don't handle being close to storms very well now. I swear I'm fine, I just wasn't expecting that. And you did warn me this place would fuck with my head. I guess I should've paid more attention."

"Ye want t'leave? Entrance isn't too far back."

"Hell, no!" Even I'm a bit startled by my vehement response, and I grapple my vocal cords back under control before continuing. "Sorry. Only, there's no way in hell I'm going back through that again. Besides," I add, meeting his eyes again, "Someone promised me some reflection time in the mirror maze. I have a feeling I might need to unwind a bit after all…that." I gesture back at the now silent and dark hallway.

"Onward, then?"

"Onward, then."

The next hallway proves to be fairly tame. The floor is vaguely slanted with random protrusions as well as strange shapes hanging down from the ceiling. It's only when my eyes have adjusted to the light that I realize we're walking through an over-sized, distorted, upside-down living room. The shapes on the ceiling (the ceiling to us) prove to be a rather misshapen set of living room furniture, including matching sofa and chair set.

"I think if Tim Burton walked on his hands he'd feel right at home here," I mutter. Though this room is obviously not as heart-pounding as the other two, there's a fun sense of wrongness that makes it just a tad difficult to completely relax in here. I can feel my smile returning as I start to see why Murphy might find this place so amusing.

The slanted floor makes walking just a bit odd, like I think I'll need a railing or something, but we finally make it to the other end of the room. Instead of a solid wall or even a door, there's a hole with a slide that slopes gently downward and curves out of sight around a bend.

"Y'want me t'go first?" Murphy offers. I kiss him swiftly on the cheek, appreciating that he is trying to help me conserve some dignity by asking instead of just assuming I'm too scared to do it.

"Nah, but thanks, really. If it's too horrible, I'll just close my eyes, curl up in fetal position, and wait for you. Seriously, though, give me about a minute or so to get out of your way at the bottom. As much as I love it when you're on top, I'm not too keen on it happening at an accelerated velocity."

I clamber down to sit in the hole, my legs resting on the slide. Murphy places his hands on my lower back and says, "Ye ready?" Nod. "Ye sure?" Vehement nod, nervous swallow, minor heart palpitations. "Three…two…"And he shoves, not bothering to wait for "one," but I figured he wouldn't, so I'm expecting the early departure.

The ride down is exhilarating, if a little nerve racking simply because I have no idea what I'll find at the bottom. I notice on the way down that, unlike the Flashing Hallway of Mind Fucking, the lighting on the slide changes cheerily from one color of the rainbow to the next. Then the slide straightens out, the bottom opens up out of nowhere, and I go flying through the air to land with a strange, scattering, scrabbling noise in a…ball pit?

Oh, hell, yeah!

I figure Murphy's probably on his way down, so I dig myself out, scrambling hurriedly through the colored plastic balls to the exit. I grab one of the balls on my way out and duck around the exit, leaning back against the wall and working to calm my excited breathing into a quieter rhythm.

Sure enough, a few seconds later I hear a whooshing noise and the unmistakable sound of Murphy cursing as he lands. There are a few moments of scrabbling, then a pause.

"Lass? Ye still here?"

I risk a peek around the corner, and as luck would have it, Murphy happens to be facing away from me. I aim carefully, and since the room isn't very large (hence Murphy isn't too far away), I manage to nail him square between the shoulders before I duck back behind the doorway.

There's a curse, then another pause.

Murphy's voice is soft and dangerously low when he finally speaks. "So that's how yer gonna play, huh? Ye've got five seconds t'run."

Oh, shit…

Without another thought, I take off into the new area, which I very quickly figure out is the mirror maze. If I were going at a more leisurely pace, I'd probably take the time to stop and admire the lighting scheme of soft black lights from above with lighted, different-colored frames around each mirror. I might take the time to contemplate my reflection in the distortion mirrors placed strategically among the regular mirrors. But since I'm currently running from one of my boyfriends and channeling just enough air to laugh and keep going, my concentration is a bit split, so I only get dim, ghostly, distorted images of myself flashing by as I sprint down the winding hallways.

Though the lights are blessedly steady, the dimness combined with the distortions and the monotonous design of the maze have me rather lost after only a few twists, turns, and forks. I have no idea where I'm going.

Of course, Murphy's pounding footsteps behind me are a pretty good indicator of which way not to go.

He's catching up a lot more quickly than I would've thought possible, and as giddy as I already was from the upstairs mind-fuck and Connor's earlier attentions, this chase is definitely ratcheting up the adrenaline (along with a couple of other key hormones). Though I don't want him to catch me too quickly, I'm more than willing to be caught sometime in the near future. After the briefest of pauses to try and catch some breath, I tear off again, unable to hold back a shriek of laughter.

Several twists and turns later, I've managed to stay out of sight from Murphy, though I can hear him hot on my trail. I don't know how, but no matter which turn or fork or twist I take, he always keeps up with me, never taking a wrong turn, always a couple of corners away, muttering hotly about all sorts of things he's going to do when he catches me.

Promises, promises…

I come upon another fork and pause, not sure which way to go. I choose right at random, taking off to turn three right corners in rapid succession before finding myself in a dead-end room roughly as big as a medium-sized closet. I'm completely surrounded by mirrors, all pleasantly normal at least, but with the far wall also covered in a mirror, I feel like I'm literally boxed in by reflections of myself that seem to be going on for quite some distance.

Breathless and a little bit light-headed, I step closer to the wall, brushing my fingertips over the glass while my reflections mimic me. The reflection of my chest is heaving in the mirror, my skin taking on a bluish tinge from the overhead black light while hints of the colors from the mirror frames play over my various forms. I stare around me as what feels like scores of myself gaze back, all panting and flushed deeper hues of whatever color they're framed in. My skin prickles, overly sensitized from Connor's teasing, from the lightning hallway upstairs, from the running, from anticipation of the inevitable conclusion to the running…

Another face appears next to mine, also flushed and more than a little bit devious, strong arms wrapping tightly around me, and Murphy growls my ear, "Gotcha."

I'd jump if he didn't already have me pinned tightly against him, and I feel a delicious twinge between the apex of my thighs as the evidence of his enjoyment of the chase throbs firmly against my lower back. I squirm in his arms deliberately, aiming to provoke rather than escape, and he squeezes just a bit tighter.

Murphy's breath hisses out sharply, hot against my neck and shoulder, and he switches his grip until he's holding tightly to my wrists. Leaning forward, he presses my hands flat against the mirror, palms forward as if my reflection and I were playing pat-a-cake.

"Don't move."

Except for the shaking in my knees, I don't think I could move if I wanted to. Which, by the way, I really, really don't.

Murphy slips his coat from his shoulders, tossing it carelessly a few feet away. My coat comes off next, with Murphy quick to replace my hands on the glass. My reflection stares back at me, wide-eyed and blue, just a bit darker around the face and neck. She's panting, her chest rising and falling as rapidly as mine while Murphy watches over my shoulder.

My eyes find Murphy's in the mirror then, and my breath catches in my throat at the darkness cast there by the strange lighting. Hungry black pools gaze avidly back at me from the mirror, and a shiver runs down my back that has nothing to do with the chill night air.

Murphy reaches up, catching my hair and sweeping it around so it's hanging in front of one of my shoulders. His lips brush slowly down the exposed skin of my neck, and I murmur something indistinct as his hot breath washes over me. My eyelids start to flutter shut then—

Then he stops.

"Eyes open an' on th'mirror, lass. Wanna see ye watchin'."

I reluctantly obey, and his reflection smirks back at me, cocky and completely sure of himself. "After all, if I'm gonna use some o'me best moves, I'd like to have a bit of an audience."

My eyes fasten on the juncture of my neck and shoulder where Murphy's lips have gone back to work, joined lazily and unhurriedly by his teeth and tongue. I'm so intent on watching him work (and of course enjoying the fruits of his labor) that his hands sliding suddenly under the hem of my shirt come as a complete surprise.

As he sweeps his hands upwards, Murphy brings my shirt along for the ride, exposing inch after inch of feverish skin to the cool air. A tiny moan slips from my lips, and my eyes nearly roll back in my head.

"Eyes front, girl."

"Murphy, for the love of—"

But his hands are moving again, swiftly and deliberately shoving my shirt up. His thumbs hook under the edges of my bra along the way, and with a sharp tug, my breasts fall free and my chest is completely exposed in the mirror. Murphy's eyes are fixed on my reflection, drinking in the sight, and it's all I can do to keep my hands pressed against the glass that's rapidly growing slick with the sweat of my palms.

Murphy pushes until my shirt and bra are bunched up across my collarbone then allows his palms to leisurely skim down over the rapidly cooling skin of my chest and belly. His calloused hands graze roughly over my nipples, scraping a moan from deep in my gut.

"Shhh," he soothes, running his fingers along the underside of my breasts until he's cupping them firmly. "S'much as I love t'hear ye make dose noises, ye need t'stay quiet fer me, just in case anyone happens by. Now keep yer eyes on th'mirror, lass; wanna see ye watchin' me work."

It's all I can do to keep quiet as Murphy sets about proving just how skilled he really is with his hands, and if I weren't so distracted just now, I'd be worried about drawing blood from biting my lip this hard so I can keep quiet. When Murphy goes back to attacking my neck and shoulder with his mouth in addition to the miracles he's working with his hands, I nearly lose it right there.

"Murphy…"

"Shh."

His hands sear a burning trail down my torso and toy at the waistband of my pants a moment before sliding open the buckle on my belt. He undoes the button on my pants, and I swear I can feel the vibration of every tooth on the zipper letting go. His left hand returns to its slow torture of my breasts, but his right…

Oh, his right hand…

"Need…to…wipe…palms. Sweat…" The whisper barely reaches my own ears, but I can feel Murphy nod even as he continues his assault on all three fronts. I rapidly (if shakily) swipe my palms against the legs of my pants, and Murphy's teeth scrape against the shell of my ear.

"Put yer hands back in front of ye, then look around th'room at yerself, lass. Look at all o'ye in here, enjoyin' yerselves. Want ye t'see yerself let go fer me."

There are dozens of him reflecting around the room, eyes full of dark fire, hands seeming to be everywhere all at once. My own reflections writhe against them, forsaking all cares of public propriety without a second thought. The raw, wanton abandon in all those eyes manifesting from so many angles sends a surge of lust through me so powerfully that I nearly buck him off. Murphy grins from a dozen angles, and scores of arms tighten their hold on all me as he redoubles his efforts. I swear I don't think my legs are going to last much longer.

"Murphy, please…" The whisper is nothing short of begging, and I've been grinding back against him for a solid minute now. "Please…"

"What d'ye want, lass?"

Is he kidding? How can he not know? How can he not already be ripping my pants off, shoving them to the floor and bending me over and—

He thrusts a finger roughly inside me, shattering my frantic train of thought.

"Tell me, girl." His voice is ragged, made deeper by the restraint he's using to hold himself back. Even in the mirrors I can see the imprints his fingers are leaving on my breast as he presses harder and harder into my flesh, squeezing and twisting and pulling.

"Remember…remember th'first night I was wit'ye, girl. Ye got t'tell me what it is ye want."

No, just…oh, God…please, Murphy, just read my fucking mind already before I explode!

And he does, just not how I want him to.

"Tell me, girl…Be so much better if I could jus' hear ye say it. What is it ye want?"

"Jesus, Murphy!" I can barely rein in my voice, and my whispered plea sounds frayed and bizarre in the dim, crowded mirror room. "Please…just…please…"

But he won't relent. "Lord's name, lass. Am pleasin' ye, doin' a fine job, too." He squeezes my clit and my nipple hard at the same time, and I have to bite back a shriek as little stars twinkle at the edge of my vision. "What d'ye need done differently?"

Can't…take…oh, please, just…

"Fuck me, Murphy…please…just fuck me…and...please…"

Murphy has my pants and underwear sliding down my thighs before I've even finished speaking. I hear a jingling, a zipping noise, then a quiet swoosh as his jeans follow.

Despite Murphy's repeated warnings, I can't stop the low, desperate keening that claws its way up from my chest as he jerks my hips back and plunges deep inside me. I wouldn't even notice if someone else were in the room with us, much less care about someone overhearing.

It's fast, rough, and perfect, and some far away part of my mind vaguely hears Murphy making a few noises I've never heard before. He pulls hard at my hips, anchoring me against his increasingly brutal thrusting. Momentum inevitably carries us forward until I'm pressed against the surface of the mirror, my breath hot and wet as fog forms around my burning cheek. The cold glass, Murphy burning against me and inside me and all around me, and it's too much, and for just a moment I have to shut everything out and just feel.

"Open yer eyes."

As lost as I am, I can't ignore the intensity in Murphy's voice, but it's still so much, and I don't want to—No…I can't, I just…

"Watch yerself come fer me, lass…need ye…t'see. Do it fer me, girl'."

I pull my face up from the glass just enough, and I turn glassy, barely-focused eyes back to my reflection. I watch the crash of emotions flooding over my face, and my mouth works silently around the cries I'd normally not think twice about releasing. My face is flushed deeply even in the strange light, and I barely recognize who I see there. I catch of glimpse of myself completely open, completely unguarded for what I think might be the first time in my life, and I'm not sure I know who she is.

As Murphy's gaze finds mine in the mirror, I see something in him now that unsettles me: a side of him, just a small part that I've never seen before; something deep that I have a sudden, instinctual desire to fall into. As open as he's always been with me, I wonder that I've never seen this depth in him. I wonder just how deep this part of him goes and how far I'd have to fall to be able to find out. What would I have to let go of in order to fall, and why is it I'm so afraid of this release?

I have a single, surreal instant where I wonder if Murphy and I are really seeing each other for the first time, and whether I've been found wanting. And without a word, Murphy lets me know that I haven't.

And that's my undoing.

Murphy growls against my neck, burying his face in my shoulder as he stifles the sounds of his own finish. My breath comes out in a rush, and every muscle inside me locks for an instant before completely liquefying.

The only sounds in our small room now are the combined rhythms of our ragged breathing. I'm pressing hard against the mirror though Murphy is mostly what's keeping me on my feet.

"Yer gonna…be th'death o'me, lass," he pants, helping me regain my balance.

"Not if you kill me first. I can barely handle one of you, and somehow I'm supposed to handle two? I don't even know if I'm going to be able to walk out of here."

The next couple of minutes are consumed by pulling up, fastening, and straightening clothing. I've just finished buttoning my coat when Murphy catches my arm and pulls me to face him. His mouth is working against some new emotion, and he stalls for a second, searching my face silently before finally speaking.

"Just wanted t'tell ye…how much…how much I love…watchin' ye…lettin' go fer me." Before I can comment on the very distinctive pauses and the sudden catch in his voice, Murphy dips his face to mine and kisses me soundly, stealing what little of my breath I've managed to regain.

I want to question those pauses, to ask him about the sudden shift in his mood, but the look in his eyes stops me, and suddenly I don't need to ask. Warmth that has only a little to do with the mind-blowing sex spreads from my chest. I stand up on my toes and pull his face down to mine, placing a kiss in the center of his forehead.

"Alright, lead the way out of here. I have the feeling we've left your brother alone too long, and there's no telling what kind of trouble he's gotten himself into."

— Drifting Off—

Images float past in my head like a montage reel at the end of a summer, feel-good, family flick:

\- Connor surrounded by a group of giggling high school girls, his eyes pleading with me to rescue him. Apparently it's "sooooooo adorable" how he's surrounded by all those stuffed animals, never mind that they belong to his girlfriend, which he's apparently told them multiple times by the time Murphy and I get back. One of the braver ones even attempts to get in some groping time, which Connor barely manages to dodge. I quickly discourage further attempts simply through the menace behind my gaze and few simply phrased, completely sincere threats. After all, I don't care that they're minors. This, of course, leads Murphy to spend the next ten minutes outlining all the ways I must be terrifying to children and a horrible babysitter, which leads me to point out that I have never once mentioned any desire or intention to babysit anything, much less children.

\- Connor and Murphy nearly getting in a fist fight over who gets to take me on the Ferris wheel first only to look up after a couple of rounds to find the ride starting with me on it and my hoard of stuffed animals as my seat companions.

\- The train ride home where I somehow manage to fall asleep on both boys at once after which I'm barely able to walk up the stairs to my apartment without assistance while Connor and Murphy haul along my prizes.

\- Both boys taking turns tucking me in and kissing me goodnight. Connor's lips are cool and sweet against mine, and he murmurs something about picking up where we left off outside the haunted house the next time he sees me. Connor steps out to give Murphy his turn, and he crouches by my bed, resting his knuckles softly against my cheek. "Best date I've ever been on, lass," he murmurs. I smile sleepily, my eyes already drifting shut. My brain fuzzes in and out as he continues.

"Ye know…back in th'mirror room…" He stops for a minute and scratches the back of his neck nervously. I wonder vaguely what happened to all the assuredness he had in the fun house. It's too dark to really tell, but I think his face might be just a tad flushed. "I was gonna tell ye…Well, that' is, I wanted ye…think ye should know…that I—"

"Murph! C'mon, girl's gotta work in th'mornin'! Get yer ass outta there!"

Murphy sighs, kissing my forehead.

"G'night, lass. We'll lock th'door behind us."

"Night, Murphy."

Murphy retreats, shutting my bedroom door behind him. I hear my front door shut and latch, and after a few lovely, long moments of reliving my favorite parts of the evening, I feel myself drifting off. Just before unconsciousness claims me, I have one last image of deep, unexplored midnight blue depths. Then I'm asleep, dreaming of letting go and falling into the unknown.

And I am blissfully unafraid.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAM.
> 
> Here it is, the last chapter of this story, and it’s a freakin’ monster. A strangely large amount of research went into this chapter, and it is also brought to you with the help of Rhanon_Brodie, without whom it would not have near its current concentration of raging awesomeness. I have some ideas for new stories, as well as the needs-some-renovation-but-is-basically-done story pair I’ve been promising for a while. This story ended in a direction that I did not see coming, and I love it. Feel free to share if there’s something you’ve been wanting to see but I haven’t touched on it yet. If you enjoyed what you read, please take a moment to behind a thought or two. Also, feel free to check out some of my other stories. Thanks.

**Author's Note:**

> Aside from this being born as a follow up story to “Quality Time,” this story is the result of having lots of embarrassing little bits and pieces of ideas running around in my head with nowhere to go. I wanted to make a little more time pass in OC and the boys’ relationship before I started in on the next bit, and I wanted to have some nice little “normal” moments. I won’t promise this one will be smut free, and I'm sure you're very disappointed by that pronouncement. If you enjoyed what you read, please take a moment to behind a thought or two. Also, feel free to check out some of my other stories. Thanks.


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